


Return to Winterfell

by Smaragaide



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Death, F/M, Game of Thrones Alternate Universe, Love, Love/Hate, Lust, Older Man/Younger Man, Supernatural Elements, Suspense, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 94,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22063885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smaragaide/pseuds/Smaragaide
Summary: My first ever fanfic from over 5 years ago. This was written before Season 5 started and changed a bit during that season having no idea where the show was going. I had never written fiction before this so there's a lot of mistakes and I was making it up as I went along.Based on the Season 5 premise of Sansa marrying Ramsay Bolton. A slight combination of the Book/Show universe.This choice to take back her home will change their relationship and Petyr's game forever.I'm reposting my fics I deleted last year. I was going to edit them, but now I just want to put them back up because I felt bad about deleting everything. Sorry for the grammar mistakes.
Relationships: Petyr Baelish & Sansa Stark, Petyr Baelish/Alayne Stone, Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 62





	1. No Longer Home

It was cold. Colder than she remembered. Her father’s words rang in the back of her mind, “winter is coming”. Sansa didn’t doubt it. She didn’t know if it was the winter or fear that chilled her blood more and the heavy furs upon her bed didn’t keep her warm.

Sansa was exhausted by the journey from the Vale, but there was no hope of sleep tonight. It wasn’t her chamber that she slept in. It didn’t even feel like she was home but a stranger in her own land. She vaguely wondered who was sleeping in her old chamber. The thought slightly disgusted her. This wasn’t how she wanted to return to Winterfell, but nothing had turned out as she imagined.

Nothing Sansa’s parents had told her had prepared her for life. She was angry with them for not educating her about the real world. No, she was naive and believed in princes, knights, flowers and dreams of love that she knew now didn’t exist. Sansa wanted to go back in time and tell that girl how things truly were. Perhaps some of the pain could be prevented. Sansa knew herself too well. Stubborn and willful as Arya, only in a different way. Young Sansa would not have believed this older, sombre girl. She would have believed exactly as she did and continued her innocent and blind path into oblivion.

No doubt the years spent in Kings Landing hardened Sansa. The lies, deception and cruelty were an education as difficult as it was to bear. She learned quickly and adapted to keep herself alive. Sansa imagined it was similar for Tyrion and even Petyr to a degree. Both men fighting a system built against them. Tyrion, though a Lannister, was at least kind to her. But she neither of them wanted the marriage and they both were making the best of a horrible situation. Perhaps it was best what Petyr had done. As much as she fell pity for the dwarf being falsely accused of Joffery’s murder, she knew both of them would have been killed sooner or later by Joffery or Cersei. It was only a matter of time. Sansa had to save herself for no one else would. She would have died in King’s Landing one way or another. She knew it and so did Petyr.

_Petyr._

Sansa didn’t know what to make of the man most of the time. He was dangerous, yes. The most dangerous man she ever met. Not physically threatening even though she knew he could overpower her easily but his mind she found, was more powerful than the strongest knight. Sansa wasn’t a fighter like Arya, nor physically strong. If she was going to live and take her revenge, she needed to be like Petyr. Out witting her enemies was her best weapon.

Everyone, even her own family, didn’t see her as a strong woman. She was a naive, stupid girl that never learned. A fragile, caged little bird that was only good for her name and claim as a Stark and nothing more. That’s all the Lannisters and Tyrell’s really wanted her for. Margery was friendly but she was using Sansa all the same too. She wanted to be Queen and the only way was to get Sansa out of the way. Befriend her and marry her to her brother. Sansa admitted that she would have jumped at the chance. Loras was handsome and kind but in the end they would have been both unhappy.

Knowledge is power, Petyr always said. Naive and ignorant Sansa wouldn’t have understood until it was too late and she was either trapped in a marriage to Joffery and subjected to his madness or loneliness in Highgarden to a man that didn’t love her either and preferred the company of men. She was willing to marry either of these men, that was the pathetic part. Forced into marriage with Tyrion ended up being a blessing in disguise.

Strange, Sansa thought. The one man she actually trusted now, the one she never would have given a second glance, the one that moved heaven and earth to get her to safety was the man she feared the most. Yet she was intrigued by him and found an odd comfort only with him. She knew Petyr was using her but to what end? As much as she tried to figure it out, she couldn’t see what his real game could be. She was safe with him, this she knew. There was no other person apart from Jon that she could trust in the world now. She could plead for help from other great Houses, but they would only use her as well. When you don’t know who to trust, you align yourself with the smartest person in the room. That person was Petyr.

He loved her mother, but he had to care for her. Didn’t he? She was more than just a piece on the chessboard to him. When everyone else patronized her, Petyr educated her. Treated her like an equal. Made her think and reason even when it was painful. He could have kept her a prisoner or worse, but he discussed his plans with her and treated her with respect. She knew he didn’t tell her everything, but at the same time, he didn’t have to tell her anything at all. He could have just used her to get what he wanted. He could have raped her at any time, but he didn’t. She knew he desired her, cared for her, so what was holding him back? Sansa wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Sansa remembered his kiss in the garden. It felt like a lifetime ago. Looking back, she wasn’t disgusted by him but shocked. She had only been kissed once by Joffery and he was only a boy. Petyr was a man. He was much older judging by the grey around his temples, but still had unwrinkled, soft skin and a lean strong body. So soft were his lips and the faint taste of mint. He didn’t kiss her like a fumbling boy. That distinction had her yielding to his embrace only for a moment. Petyr wasn’t an ugly man either. Sansa wondered if she would have found him handsome when he was younger. Obviously her mother and Aunt Lysa didn’t mind flirting with him back then. Petyr could be kind, funny, charming, generous and at times she genuinely enjoyed his company. But it was Littlefinger she was afraid of. How easily he could switch from one to the other.

Sansa realised that she too, wore a mask every day she was in Kings Landing. Petyr, to attain his power, must have worn his mask for years. Sansa wondered if she would become like him in years to come. Playing a part to fit her game and only revealing her true self to certain people if anyone at all? She noticed that he was less Littlefinger and more Petyr when they were together in private. Sansa wondered how long it had been since Petyr was able to take his mask off without worry of treachery. He was trusting Sansa immensely and she him. Lysa’s death bound them in a way that they had no one else.

Sansa found she actually missed him while he was away leaving her alone in the Eyrie. She tried to be like him, strong and confident. He trusted her to handle Sweet Robin and run the Eyrie in his absence. Trust. Petyr took pride in her accomplishments and growing intelligence. It was something that made her feel good. When Petyr returned, she had to conceal her relief and joy. She knew she couldn’t go it alone. She needed him and yet she felt he needed her too. Trusting each other was the only way to stay alive and perhaps even win their game.

“Their game….their plans…their revenge… “

Since Lysa’s death, Sansa noticed the shift from Petyr and his plans to their plans. They. Herself and him. Together. He promised her Winterfell if she wanted it but there were risks involved. Petyr laid out a plan to deceive the Boltons and reclaim her birthright. It was more than dangerous but Sansa wanted revenge and she knew Petyr did as well. There would be a wedding, a Black Wedding as she called it because it was shrouded in death.

When she saw Winterfell for the first time in years, Sansa was overcome with emotion. Petyr took her in his arms instinctively. He cooed in her ear with promises that everything would be all right. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Sansa truly believed him for the first time. Petyr didn’t make a move without studying every facet, every option. He had a contingency plan for everything. She needed to play the part and it would work. Petyr didn’t know how to fail. And somewhere deep inside, she knew he would do everything in his power to protect her.

Sansa shivered. The pale light of the moon streamed through her window casting shadows in the room. The entire place had the scent of death to it. Did the ghosts roam the halls at this hour? Sansa didn’t believe in such things, she had become more practical under Petyr’s tutelage, but sometimes she wondered if the spirits of old looked upon the living.

Just as that thought passed, Sansa heard noises outside her chamber door. They were distant but sounded as though they were coming nearer. Sansa sat up and retrieved her dressing gown on the nearby chair. The stone floor was ice cold but Sansa stood rooted to the spot, listening intently. In the darkness, she found the dagger Petyr had given her. Standing by the small vanity, Sansa remembered the young girl appointed to be her handmaiden. She couldn’t have been older than 13 and looked half-starved. Sansa noticed the bruises in the mirror as the girl brushed her hair. They caught each other in the mirror and Sansa noticed the girls' eyes were lifeless. What had this poor girl endured? Sansa placed her hand on top of the one holding the brush, their eyes never breaking contact. Without saying a word, a wealth of information passed between them. An understanding.

The girl gently placed the brush down and didn’t glance as Sansa. She spoke so softly that Sansa almost didn’t hear her.

“Run. He is evil. They are all evil here. The things they do….”

Sansa tried to appear strong. Petyr told her about the Boltons. She knew what they were, what she was getting into.

The girl made her way to the chamber door and spoke again so quietly as if she were a ghost herself.

“Tell your uncle to take you away from this place.”

Just when Sansa began to rise, the girl whispered, “There’s no bolt on your door” and closed the door behind her. 

Another muffled sound pulled Sansa back into the present and she gripped the dagger. She couldn’t stay in this room. This wasn’t her home anymore and she didn’t want to be alone. She was doubting whether she could do any of this. She wasn’t so confident by herself.

Petyr’s chamber was just down the hallway. They passed it before coming to her door earlier in the evening. Petyr kissed her cheek lightly and looked into her eyes. There was tenderness and a touch of fear. She didn’t even know he moved until she felt an object pressed into her hand hidden by the folds of her dress. His hand was firm as his grey eyes bore into her pools of blue. She understood and said her goodnights as the door closed. No one saw the dagger she held in her hand.

Sansa stepped lightly to her door and listened. All she heard was the pounding of her own heart. She gripped the dagger tight and hid her hand inside her dressing gown as she opened the door.

Sansa peered into the dark hallway not sure what she was expecting. There was a torch at the far end and its flame was almost out as it’s faint light danced upon the chiselled stone.

She could see Petyr’s door. It wasn’t that far. Only a few heartbeats away. He would be awake, wouldn’t he? Sansa didn’t imagine Petyr slept all that much. He would open his door to her she was sure of it. She didn’t care what it looked like, the bride visiting her uncle’s bedchamber in the middle of the night. With all her resolve, Sansa silently closed her door and made her way down the hallway.

_Almost there._

Only moments away to safety and suddenly Sansa’s heart stopped.

“What are you doing out here?”

The guard appeared from the darkness wearing the colours of the Boltons. Sansa thought Petyr had placed Vale guards nearby but as she looked around she was alone. Out of fear, she almost ran to Petyr’s door to pound on it until he opened it but that would bring too much-unwanted attention.

_Play your part and it will work._

“I had a nightmare and I was frightened. I want to see my uncle.” she mustered as much innocence as she could.

The guard eyed her suspiciously at first and then a smirk formed across his mouth.

“Frightened, eh? I can find a better way to distract you.”, he sneered. The words made her shudder. His eyes were travelling down her body and she realised that in her haste she hadn’t pulled the dressing gown tight and her shift was sheer in the dim light.

Sansa pulled the gown across herself with one hand while the other lay hidden from view. She slowly stepped backwards towards Petyr’s door. He must be asleep, she gathered as much. Petyr had excellent ears. He could hear a conversation from across a crowded room. He wasn’t coming to her rescue.

“I don’t want any trouble. Lord Ramsay wouldn’t want his bride ruined, would he.” It wasn’t a question. If this man was too obtuse to understand, she would have to make it plainer for him.

“What do you think he would do to the man that touched his virgin bride the night before his wedding? I think flaying would be the least of your worries,” she said with more confidence.

The guard seemed to ponder the scenario in front of him. When he didn’t make a move towards her, Sansa closed the distance to Petyr’s door. Without taking her eyes off the guard, she turned the handle to her surprise finding it unlocked. She entered the room quickly and as silently as she opened it, Sansa closed the door behind her.

The handle of the heavy oak door gave a gentle click as Sansa closed it. She noticed that this door indeed had a bolt. Why on his door and not hers, she wondered? She was deliberately given that room because it was accessible. Did her betrothed have intentions of visiting her this night? Petyr had discreetly given her a dagger. He knew. She remembered the young girl's bruises and heard her voice again ...

_Run... Tell your uncle to take you away from this place._

If Petyr was fearful that she would need protection tonight, why was his own door unlocked? Did he think she would come to him? Is that why no Vale guards were present to prevent gossip about the Lord Protector and his mysterious niece?

Sansa bolted the door quietly. Turning around, she surveyed her surroundings. Petyr's chamber was black as pitch save for the embers dying in the hearth and a sliver of moonlight from the heavily draped window. Already she felt warmer even though her bare feet screamed otherwise. She could barely make out the figure on the bed under the furs. Just as she was about to call his name, Sansa thought better of it.

_Walls have ears._

"My Lord?" she finally whispered. Sansa didn't recognise her own voice. It was hoarse and dry. Fear, cold and sudden warmth seemed to pinch her vocal cords.

The figure on the bed didn't move. Sansa silently stepped closer. In the murky light, she could see the man with his back to her. Petyr, his breathing completely at ease, laying asleep not quite in the middle of the bed and completely unaware of the uninvited guest.

Her frozen toes met warm wool as she stood at the edge of his bed. She debated for a moment to simply climb under the covers before he could protest. Would he protest? Tell her she was being childish and to return to her room? Sansa knew he would not take advantage of her but by allowing such intimacy she didn't know if that was a road she was ready to travel. Petyr was not a boy. Robert often stole to her room at night to nestle down and sleep. Would he cradle her to him and whisper sweet nothings like she did with poor Robert to make him sleep? Petyr was not her father, brother or anything of the sort. Did she want him to comfort her? Lie to her and tell her it was all going to be all right?

_Warmth and lies were better than cold and fear._

She would have to reach a bit to touch him, jostle him to wake. Just as her knee sunk into the softness of down and furs, a strong arm suddenly shot out and jerked her across the bedding. Before she knew what had happened, Petyr had her pinned down with the full weight of his body, eyes as lethal as the dagger he held at her throat.


	2. Bed of Lies

The deadly threat of cold Valyrian steel against her pulsating throat paled in comparison to the terror she felt looking into his eyes. Petyr's cool exterior never broke even when he pushed Lysa to her death. This man above her now was a dangerous stranger, ready to kill anyone that entered his domain. His eyes pierced her soul as the blade was ready to pierce her delicate skin. Was he expecting an enemy to kill him in his sleep perhaps? If a dagger was not pressed to her throat, daresay she would have likened the idea that he was as nervous to be here as she was.

Petyr's eyes softened as clarity came over him. The dagger carefully moved away from her flesh as he loosened his grip on the hand that wielded the weapon he gave her. Sansa didn't realise she was still clutching it when Petyr's head dropped towards her chest almost but not quite touching her.

"Gods, woman" he breathed.

Sansa finally released the breath she didn't know she was holding. Gasping for air as if she were drowning.

Petyr lifted his head and met her eyes once again this time full of concern, "Did I hurt you?"

All she could do was numbly shake her head as words escaped her. Gentle fingers, not believing her answer, glided across her neck searching for any kind of physical wound he might have inflicted. Petyr turned his attention to her hand and softly removed the dagger from her death grip. He brought her wrist, where surely a bruise would develop by morning, to his lips and pressed a feather-light kiss on her pulse point. It's was an apology.

He wasn't toying with her as he tended to do when he was in a playful mood in his solar. They danced around this strange intimacy for months that never amounted to more than a chaste kiss. Petyr's expression was pained while his eyes were closed as if he were trying to command himself. He had not moved off her the entire time even though his weight had lessened. What amounted to only a few passing moments, felt like a lifetime to Sansa. She blushed at the tiny thought that she had a man intimately laying on her. She could feel all of him. He had embraced her before but that was standing and fully clothed. She was acutely aware that she wore only a shift and dressing gown that barely covered her body _and_ that she was lying in a man's bed. _Petyr's bed_. His narrow hip was dangerously close to brushing her womanhood as he moved the weight of his legs off her own. Petyr released her hand and began to push himself up to a seated position as his tunic, which was unlaced and open, gave Sansa a full view of his torso.

She knew the story about his duel with her real uncle, but seeing the reality of that young boy's folly marred across his body was different entirely. Uncle Brandon had practically sliced a boy in half, she thought with disgust. He was just a young boy in love for the first time. It wasn't a crime and it certainly didn't warrant such a cruel punishment. A touch of anger shifted to her mother. She could have stopped it before it began. She had to know that Petyr stood no chance duelling her betrothed. Sansa's examination didn't go unnoticed by Petyr. He didn't give his usual smirk or make japes. He simply let her look until an uncertain hand unconsciously drifted towards the dreadful scar.

He caught her hand lightly in his own and sighed.

"Handsome, isn't it? I daresay I should have displayed it in King's Landing. Knights are lauded for their battle scars are they not?" The half-hearted joke died on his lips as a sadness drifted over his face, "Ah, but I'm not a knight am I? Only a lovesick, dimwitted boy would have allowed this to happen to him."

Sansa thought briefly that he could be playing on her emotions to pity him, but Petyr didn't want _anyone's_ pity. She understood that feeling and why it turned him into the man she met in King's Landing. He wanted to show them all that he was more than the low born boy they disregarded so. He was taking his revenge on the system that didn't allow him to be their equal and turn it against them. Even if her mother hadn't been promised to the Starks, Petyr still wouldn't have been given a chance at her hand. The boy from the Fingers was never going to be good enough for any high born girl. Becoming his low born niece was insulting at first, but she understood why he did it. Yes, he was protecting her from the Lannisters but he was also teaching her. High born or low born, both had their disadvantages. It would almost be better if neither existed and all were equal.

She pushed herself up with her arm to sit as he was with his haunches resting on his calves. She almost smiled at the dishevelled man before her. Petyr was always well dressed and groomed immaculately. His hair a mess and tunic wrinkled from sleep. She liked him this way, she decided. He had a certain vulnerability and boyishness at this moment. She liked him when he was just Petyr, not Littlefinger.

Petyr was still as stone staring at her. Just as she had done in the hallway with the guard, he remembered himself and began to pull his tunic together. Before he could adjust his clothing, Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck and held herself against him. This time she was apologising.

He was solid. Not an ounce of extra padding on him. She could feel the heat of his body through the sheer shift separating them. Every taught muscle and a light tickle of hair on his chest. She buried her nose into the crook of his neck and breathed in. Petyr had a scent that was all his own. She rather liked that too. All too aware that he was a man in every way. Older and experienced, this sudden intimacy wouldn't go overlooked.

After a time, she realised he hadn't moved and didn't touch her except where she was embracing him. His hands ghosted up her arms and placed them on her shoulders gently pushing her away from him. Still so close that she could feel his breath on her face, Sansa opened her eyes to look at him. The air between them was charged and her heart raced. His dark eyes bore into hers in such a way that she couldn't look away. Never had a man looked at her like this and it made her stomach flutter. His hands were still holding her shoulders as he pulled her forward and Sansa held her breath.

But as her eyes closed and felt a tingle of anticipation, the sensation of his lips pressing against her forehead was peculiar. When he pulled away, Sansa opened her eyes and felt ... was it disappointment? She thought for certain he was going to kiss her. Did she want him to kiss her?

_Yes._

The moment was gone. Sansa sat confused at what didn't happen. He wanted her. His eyes told her that much truth. Petyr didn't meet her eyes as he reached past her and picked up the daggers. He was Littlefinger again. She was amazed at how quickly he could switch masks.

"It's clear I need to teach you how to use one of these. Daggers are often unappreciated. If you carry a sword, you best know how to wield it. A dagger is better suited to women and men like me in many ways. Most men are not threatened by it. Something so little is very rarely threatening, isn't it? That is your advantage. A dagger can be concealed and when you least expect it, buried in your back."

Petyr tilted her chin with one finger and smiled, "Next time do not hesitate... even if it's me, sweetling."

In one graceful movement, he was off the bed and re-adjusting the bedclothes as if nothing happened. When Sansa didn't move as he attempted to pull back the covers, he gave her a teasing glance.

"It's gallant of you to offer sleeping above the covers to protect my virtue, but alas, you've missed that mark by decades, my dear. Come, it's freezing."

Sansa slipped beneath the warmth of the linen and furs but it didn't melt the ice forming around her. She turned her back to him and curled into a tight ball as a void between them grew. Tomorrow she would be wed to a man eviler than Joffery and Petyr was making japes. What if it didn't go to plan and she had to bed Ramsay? Oh Gods, she didn't want to think about it. Would she have to kill him in bed? Sansa was so lost in terrifying thoughts, she didn't feel Petyr close the distance until his body was fully pressed against her backside. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly to him. Nuzzling his nose in hair and the heat of his breath upon her neck, he tried to console her.

"Don't think on it anymore tonight, my love. By tomorrow night, they will all be dead at the feast and your home will belong to you once more."

This man was an insufferable mind reader. She wanted to believe him but she was angry and didn't know why. Sansa nestled her face deeper into the pillow and further away from him. She almost had half a mind to walk back to her own room. What kind of game was he playing at?

Petyr leaned over her still pressed against her body. "Look at me, Sansa." She turned to meet his defiant gaze. "I won't let anything happen to you, I promise. I won't let him harm you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Petyr." she whispered with venom in her voice.


	3. Desire and Promises

She could feel Petyr studying her and thinking of what it was she wanted him to say. What came out of his mouth next was so impetuous, she wasn’t sure she heard him correctly.

"Did Tyrion bed you?"

His tone was serious and not demanding but nonetheless surprising. She knew he was expecting an answer, so she gave him the truth just as she told Aunt Lysa when she arrived in the Eyrie. He was present that day, wasn’t he listening? Perhaps he thought she was lying or too embarrassed at the time.

"No, not technically, but…"

” _But…_ ”

Did he really want to hear that she disrobed for the dwarf and saw his naked body and erect member? That she told him she never wanted him to touch her… Why did Petyr want to know?

When she didn’t answer, he pressed on. “Did he want you? If you had given him permission, would he have taken you?”

Sansa turned to face him but couldn’t meet his eyes. “Yes”

Petyr didn’t need her to tell him she was still a virgin, but her intimate interaction with a man proved to be very interesting to him.

"Well, Tyrion, given his reputation… I give him credit for not raping a young girl. Ramsay, however, will not be so gentlemanly I fear." Petyr pondered his words very carefully but after a few minutes of deliberation, directness seemed to be the best approach.

"How much do you know about men and …." Was he shy asking her about romantic intimacies?

"…bedding?" she finished for him.

"Fucking."

As if reading her mind, he quipped, “I doubt your mother used that term.”

Quite right, he was! She knew Petyr owned brothels and what went on in such places but to hear it spoken had a certain crudeness to it. Sansa wasn’t so naive. She knew what happened between a man and a woman. Romantic stories were of lovemaking and gentleness. Young ladies, such as herself, were not told about the other. Forbidden desires and pleasures were things found in naughty books or from overheard scandalous conversations. Well-bred girls didn’t fuck. That was something whores and loose women did.

"Don’t feign shock. It doesn’t serve you. Trust me, sweetling, lovemaking is for fairytales written by ones too unimaginative and incompetent to give and receive such pleasure."

"Why are you… "

"However, there are those that use it to hurt and degrade. I’ve seen and heard every sordid thing that men want to do a woman. Ramsay, is the sort that takes pleasure in causing pain. He is like Joffery, only more skilled at his craft."

Sansa was speechless and horror spread throughout her body. She didn’t want to know these things. She didn’t want tomorrow to come. How did she even think she could do this?

Petyr lovingly caressed her face. “We need to figure out how to handle him… how _you_ need to handle him if you find yourself alone with him. I will do everything possible to make sure the bedding doesn’t happen. If it does, you need to be prepared.”

Sansa was insulted, “You want me to be a whore?”

Petyr held her face in his hands and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"No… _Ingenious_. What did I tell you about men?”

Sansa didn’t need to think, his words came out with perfect fluidity. “Once you know what a man wants, you know who he is and how to move him.”

Petyr smiled and this one reached his eyes. “I’ll make a mockingbird of you yet.” The pride in his voice was enough to give her confidence in the task at hand and they fell back into their comfortable rapport. “Now, who is Ramsay?” Petyr relaxed back on his elbow against the pillows.

"Lord Bolton’s bastard."

Petyr raised an eyebrow correcting her, “Lord Bolton’s newly legitimized son. He wants his father’s approval and acceptance. He will do what is necessary to keep it. That doesn’t mean he will stop being a despicable piece of filth, unfortunately. Which means we need to be just as ruthless. Roose isn’t a fool, he knows I don’t have complete control over the Vale but he also knows I’m not the sort to trifle with either. Winter is coming. He will need us. It wouldn’t matter if I presented you as my trueborn daughter, bastard or simple niece. He believes I’m still loyal to the Lannisters and the crown. He will gain much from this alliance, especially with Stannis making his way south. The marriage seals the deal. He will not want you harmed and end up losing the Vale, wealth and resources I hold. Play the sweet virgin and but stay vigilant. If I’m unable to stop the bedding, you need to know how to play him…. and kill him if necessary.”

Dread washed over her once again. “I wouldn’t know what to do,” she said miserably.

Petyr deliberated and spoke gingerly, “Do you want me to teach you?”

"Teach me how?" she said slowly. She wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

Petyr chose his words delicately, “You need… to be acclimated for whatever happens in that room, do you understand me? You want to play the vulnerable virgin, _but you won’t be_.”

Sansa’s eyes widened at the implication of his words.

Petyr gave a low chuckle, “As desirable as you are, sweetling, I have no intention of taking your maidenhead, but that doesn’t mean we won’t have a new knowledge of each other after this night.”

Sansa wasn’t sure she was comforted by that notion, but she knew what he was asking.

_Trust_

Sansa didn’t attempt to pretend she was confident as far as sex was concerned. Her wedding night with Tyrion was proof enough of that. She had no notion what to do. Her mother was so vague on the subject when she was promised to Joffery. Perhaps she felt she had more time to educate her daughter before a wedding. But everything happened so fast and she never saw her mother again. Cersei had said once that Sansa needed to learn how to use her womanly traits to control men. To hear a _man_ educate her was nerve-racking indeed in his direct approach.

"You see, men like Ramsay want to be the lord and master. They want to break people to their will. Make him believe your innocent, which won’t be hard for you, my dear. But if he attempts to take you, you can’t let that fear and inexperience stay your hand when the time presents itself to kill."

Petyr shifted where he was hovering slightly above her. His eyes followed one finger as it trailed a path down her neck, across her collarbone and to where shoulder and shift met. He made lazy circles for a moment until drawing the material slowly down baring her shoulder and the upper swell of her breast. “Expect his touch… know it’s coming. You can fake innocence better when you’re not afraid or caught off guard.”

Sansa’s breath quickened at his caress. No man had ever touched her like this. Petyr was in complete control as if this were his classroom and only teaching a simple lesson. He was being so gentle as to not scare her. If anyone was going to teach her how to deal with a man in a bedchamber, she supposed Petyr would be the best tutor.

Yes, she trusted him. She took a deep breath to steel her resolve and closed her eyes.

” _No_. Open your eyes.” When she did as he commanded, his face was so close she could make out the fine lines around his eyes that revealed his age. “Stay aware. Do not give him control but make him believe he has it.”

With that, he kissed her fully. Not that of a timid boy, but a lovers kiss from a man that was experienced in seduction. It wasn’t gentle nor chaste as his lips claimed hers with a passion she’d never known possible. Oh Gods, she was lost in the sensation. He expertly devoured her causing her to whimper into his mouth. Petyr pressed her deeper into the bed, one hand grazing her jaw and the other trailing fire along her ribcage. Heat began to pool below her navel, a sweet ache that wanted more.

That sinful hand's journey ended at the curve of her lower spine and suddenly thrust her hips up to meet his. She gasped at sheer wickedness of it. His hand on her backside pressing their most intimate sexes together. Petyr broke the kiss and his eyes were dark and filled with lust. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t look away. Without warning, he rocked his pelvis and she could feel his hardness brazenly rub at her apex. The force of his hand kept their hips close but she couldn’t imagine moving away if that’s what he was preventing. Heat in her belly created a wetness between her legs that she was sure would soak through her thin shift. She couldn’t hold his gaze any longer and brought her arms under his and placed her hands on his shoulder blades. This gave him access to the pulse point under her jaw and he took it without abandon as his lower body did not miss a beat in its torturous dance.

Sansa’s breathing was laboured against his neck. He had her panting and she was quickly losing that control he instructed her to keep. She knew this was pretense but she didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t want to feel that disappointment of him leaving her so unsatisfied. Sansa decided she could play this game just as well as a man. If Petyr wanted to teach, she’d be a most apt pupil.

She tested the waters by lightly kissing him below his jaw as he did to her a moment before. She must have hit the sweet spot because he stopped his attentions and sighed. The sound was music to her ears and she wanted to hear it again. Her mouth made its way along his chiselled jawline and their eyes met once more. His eyes betrayed him for she caught pure tenderness and something else. She didn’t want to think about that just now, not yet. She didn’t know what to think when it came to him. The man was an enigma. She wondered though, at this moment, if she asked him to take her away from here, would he do it? Or was this just another ploy to get her to do what he wanted. She didn’t care whatever this was between them any longer. She didn’t want to think about tomorrow, her fears… she wanted to forget everything for just a little while longer.

Something shifted in the air and this was now all too real between them.

Her eyes trailed from his face down to his chest. Delicate fingers explored the light hair running down the centre. His breath hitched slightly when they touched the scar just below his collarbone. She lowered her head until lips met the raised and glossy flesh. That cool exterior of his was starting to break. She could feel it when he hissed as her teeth grazed his skin, in his rapid heartbeat as her hands travelled down his sides wondering if they burned him as she burned at his touch. Her novice hands made their way around to the small of his back, pushing his tunic away with the movement. His skin was soft and she felt the taut muscles react to her every touch. He was letting her explore and holding such self-control that she couldn’t imagine a younger man would possess. She made a mental note that this was not the body of what she thought an older man would be. Wrinkled, sagging skin and fetid odour. She prayed her parents would not marry her to some old lord. Petyr was more than twice her age and she didn’t care. He wasn’t as old as she first thought upon meeting him. She was such a child then. He was a man in his prime with a wealth of knowledge, experience and control young men didn’t possess.

She wanted to touch more of him. Feel his skin burn. Her hands travelled along the small of his lower spine and he hissed when they met his backside. An involuntary flinch made his hips thrust forward and the friction made them both gasp. His eyes darkened and he glared at her as if warning her not to try that again. When she defiantly dragged her nails along his sensitive skin, his cool exterior not only broke, it shattered.

Petyr claimed her mouth with such ferocity she wasn’t sure if teasing him was such a good idea. His skilled hands grasped her hips to roughly meet his own and successfully parting her legs in one swift movement. Before she could protest out of embarrassment, his hardness was fully pressed along her sex. She couldn’t hide the wetness there and she was sure he could feel it through her shift now. Oh, but the way he was kissing and seductively thrusting against her was a perfect distraction. She felt a building pressure just above her sex that he was slowly manipulating. As if by instinct her legs parted further granting him more access and she tentatively arched up to meet him. Petyr growled deeply and it was the more erotic sound she ever heard. In response, he aggressively yanked her thighs up and around his waist. There was no turning back now. This was the point of no return.

In the process, her shift had crumpled to her waist and she was practically bare to him. One piece of clothing was all that separated them. He promised not to take her maidenhead but she was so lost in pleasure, she probably would not have resisted if he tried. One of his hands that still held her thigh crept closer and closer to her apex. Surely, he didn’t mean to touch her there! She froze and Petyr sensed her trepidation. Focusing again on her mouth, he let his hand rest on the inside of her thigh giving her time to relax and trust him again. He lightly dipped his tongue to caress her own. What an odd but not unwelcome sensation as he taught her this new form of kissing. Soon she relaxed again and before she knew it, his hand was there.

Oh dear, she understood now why Lysa was screaming his name on their wedding night. His fingers played her until she was moaning. Oh, she wanted him. She didn’t care about anything else but the pleasure he was giving. It was almost unbearable. Did he want her to touch him in the same way? She snaked her hand between them to touch what she heard other girls talk about. He was so distracted in pleasuring her, that he didn’t stop her until she was holding him. He shuddered at the tentative touch of her hand. Sansa realised the power women could have over men like this. He was at her mercy. His face was pained and she wondered briefly if she was hurting him. How strange that a man could be soft and hard at the same time. And she certainly couldn’t imagine how something like that could fit inside a woman. He stilled her hand, and a strangled “No” escaped his lips.

If he was protecting her virtue now, he was doing a piss poor job of it. She attempted to release him from his constraints but his grip tightened as his eyes told her no again. Didn’t he want her? A look of hurt washed over her face and she moved her hand away.

Answering her thoughts, “I don’t want to cause you pain. It _will_ hurt.”

"I don’t care."

"I _do_.”

There it was. The answer to the question she had asked herself these many months. He cared and it was sincere. Now that she knew, she didn’t know what to do with this newfound information. It didn’t lessen her annoyance. She was on fire and he wanted to snuff it out. This wanting made her crazy. She huffed in dissatisfaction.

"Not here. I want you all to myself without worrying about anyone hearing or… the distinct possibility of certain death." he teased trying to lighten the mood.

Sensing her frustration and internal conflict over the situation they found themselves in, Petyr kissed her with reverence.

"After tomorrow, if we live through this, I will make love to you all day and night." he crooned as he stoked the fire in her loins again.

"You said lovemaking was for… OH!" This man would be the death of her. He was back on her will full force. His hips thrusting roughly as skilled fingers drove her mad. If having him inside her was half as good this, she was certain she would die.

"I know what I said, sweetling. Am I unimaginative?" His lascivious eyes never left hers as he nipped at her clothed breast. It sent a shock wave to her core. He wasn’t stopping. She could feel the pressure building and it wasn’t stopping. "I haven’t even begun to show you…" Petyr kissed her with such passion, it took her breath away.

She didn’t know what to do, her body began to quake. His breaths were short and she knew he was losing the same battle. His body danced with hers and with a deft hand, sent her over the edge. Petyr silenced her screams, kissing them away as he succumbed to his own pleasure and panted laying his head down. He wasn’t crushing her and the weight of his body felt like armour over her. She felt him smile against her chest when she whispered his name.

"I would ask you about incompetence, but I’m not entirely sure what we would call this tonight."

Petyr gently moved off her and settled down by her side. Sansa was so exhausted she didn’t know what to say to that. He pulled her to him and she cradled herself to his side resting her head upon his chest. Petyr placed the heavy fur over them, relaxing into the warmth.

They lay together in contentment, as he absently caressed her back. She half smiled to herself, lost in thought. Never in a million years, when she came to King’s Landing , would she had believed that she would be laying in bed with the Master of Coin, owner of brothels and king of lies…

Just as she was falling asleep, she thought she heard him say…

"No man will ever harm you, my love. Not while I have breath in my body."


	4. Black Wedding Part 1

It was just before dawn judging by the pale blue glow on the horizon. Sansa could feel herself slowly wake. She was bleary and her limbs were heavy with sleep. Her head was resting upon Petyr’s bare chest and their limbs entwined. His heartbeat was slow and rhythmic and his breathing measured. Petyr was fast asleep. When she moved slightly, his arm unconsciously tightened around her. Sansa smiled to herself. She exhausted him. She thought surely he would be waking her so she could go back to her chamber before the servants awoke.

Sansa didn’t want to move. Moving meant that the day’s events would also be set in motion. She wondered if she just pulled the covers over them, would the world disappear.

She raised her head and took a moment to examine him unawares. Petyr was so peaceful like this. No scheming, no deceptions, no barriers… He was just a man and a comely one at that. She never truly looked at him before. In sleep, he seemed much younger than his years. His skin was soft and unblemished, a shapely mouth, chiselled jaw and an aristocratic nose. It was eyes though they were his best feature. Eyes that could see right through you and know your secrets. Eyes that could instil fear and forbidden desires. Even though he had fine lines upon his face and a dusting of grey along his temples, she wondered how much younger he would look without his moustache and goatee. The delicate skin around her lips still held a faint burn. Would he shave if she asked him to? But asking only meant one thing… and all she could think of was what happened between them last night.

“It would bloat my ego to think I am so exceptional a man to warrant such a gaze of adoration.”

Sansa was so lost in thought; she didn’t notice Petyr was awake and staring at her with hazy intensity. She blushed several shades of red.

“Be sure not to blush like that when looking at me during the wedding, sweetling… people will say we’re in love,” he teased. Oh, he was in a playful mood. “It would be a challenge, of course, to convince them only of my very _avuncular_ affections. Besides, I wouldn’t want to upstage the groom even though a hairless goat would make easy work of it.”

Sansa couldn’t hold back her laughter if she tried. She liked him this way. Petyr could be so comfortable and easy to be with sometimes. Anyone would be hard-pressed to best him in any conversation. His tongue was sharp as his mind. He made for a wonderful companion. He was intelligent, entertaining, witty… He was right when he told her all those young knights would have bored her to death. She couldn’t imagine having conversations like this with any of them.

She never thought she would genuinely enjoy his company when they weren’t plotting and killing. Plus, he made her feel intelligent. He made her every bit his equal. Treated her like a woman and not some empty-headed girl everyone else took for granted. She liked the way he complimented her, beamed with pride when she solved a puzzle, and…

Petyr groaned deep in his chest. Sansa didn’t realize she had been abstractedly drawing lazy patterns on his skin. She sighed and lay her head back down from where she had woke earlier.

“I should leave.”

But as contradiction left her mouth, she was lightly playing with the hair on his chest. Wishing he would ask her to stay.

“Yes. Ah, but there is one thing I must do to you before you go.” Sansa blushed for the thousandth time as he left the bed and made his way to a nearby table. When he returned, he was holding a hairbrush. The expression on her face must have been so befuddled that he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You look every bit a well-bedded woman.” as he ran his fingers through her dishevelled head of hair.

Sansa was mortified and covered her face in embarrassment. Petyr gently pulled her hands away and kissed each one. He moved her to the edge of the bed and began untangling her hair with practised hands.

When he was finished, he ran his fingers through the length.

She stood and adjusted her dressing gown, wrapping it tightly once again. She felt Petyr come from behind and grasp her upper arms, bringing her against him. His breath whispered against her neck and for the longest time they stood silently. He breathed her in as if memorizing every note.

“Remember who you are. You are strong, beautiful and fearless. This is your home, your land, and your vengeance. One day more and it is _done_. Then you will never have to think on it again. “

Petyr slowly turned her to meet his gaze. His eyes drifted down to her lips and gave her a wicked grin. He kissed her gently and then walked her to the door.

“We have much to do today.”

He unbolted the door and peered into the hallway. Satisfied that they would not be discovered, Petyr moved aside to let Sansa pass and then stopped her as if he remembered something.

“Oh, and one more thing, just in case I don’t see you properly before the ceremony.” A roguish and pure Machiavellian smile, that spelt trouble for someone, painted his face.

“ _Don’t_ eat the meat pies.”

* * *

The day went by in a whirlwind. Petyr spared no expense for this sham of a wedding. Arbor gold, roasted meats, fruits, and pastries abound. There was no way that the Boltons could question, Littlefinger, the new Protector of the Vale’s wealth and vast connections.

Sansa had barely seen the man before the ceremony. He acted like more like a dutiful father than uncle at all the preparations. When she returned to her room after lunch to bathe and dress she couldn't believe the dress laid out upon her bed. It looked like it was spun from a cloud’s silver lining. It was delicate and hugged her every curve when her handmaiden laced it up. She couldn’t think of many high born ladies that would ever own such a gown. Petyr’s taste was immaculate and she could only imagine him making sure every detail was perfect.

She could hardly remember the ceremony. It was all in a haze as if she were a bystander in it all. She felt Petyr placing his emerald green and black cloak over her shoulders with a silver mockingbird embroidered on the back, his light kiss upon her cheeks. It was his eyes the spoke when his mouth was silent. Those eyes that could speak volumes in one glance only meant for her. She said her vows as Alayne. It wasn’t real vows if it wasn’t Sansa, was it? It meant nothing, just as Ramsay meant nothing.

Sitting at the table of honour during the feast, she hadn’t spoken more than a few words. People just assumed she was shy and her new husband didn’t seem to notice her as it was. Sansa looked at him, he was not handsome nor ugly but something was just off about him. Petyr told her what kind of man he was, but had she not known, she would have said there was something quite wrong and _sinister_ about him. He hardly spoke to her or acknowledged her existence and yet he was making her nervous and fear crept into her belly. She felt truly caged even though Petyr was sitting one chair away.

The few times they made eye contact was all for show. Petyr had his Littlefinger mask on and playing it like a fine-tuned instrument. He was japing with a man named Manderly. She remembered vaguely that he was one of her father’s old bannermen once. Yet, here he was supporting the Boltons. She tried to withhold her disgust over all the pretentious people in the hall. Due to Petyr’s tutelage, she was starting to put faces with names. Of course, the Boltons would invite the Freys. They all killed her family and here they were eating and drinking in her home. All of them liars and traitors to the Stark name and having a lively time and drinking their fill of Petyr’s wine.

It seemed as though she didn’t even exist. She heard compliments of what a beautiful niece Littlefinger had and so forth, but no one attempted to talk to her or pay her any mind. Sansa felt rather relieved that she didn’t have to pretend mindless conversation. She caught movement in the corner of the room and she couldn’t believe her eyes.

 _Theon!_ Theon Greyjoy was staring at her as though he knew who she was! But it couldn’t be. She thought he was dead from the little she had heard in Kings Landing. Sansa was a child when she last saw him here in Winterfell, but Alayne was a woman now and he couldn’t possibly recognize her in Petyr’s disguise. When she looked back, he was gone. It was definitely him, but something was wrong about him.

Petyr caught Sansa’s eyes again and his look told her to be careful. He could read her mind like some magical soothsayer. It lasted only a moment and he was back to discussing politics with Roose Bolton who was sitting beside her.

“Now surely Baelish, you cannot hold it against me for not drinking this wine right away. One has to be careful or find his wine poisoned. Too many _trusting_ people dying at wedding feasts these days, wouldn’t you say?” Roose gleamed.

Sansa thought Lord Bolton was trying to goad Petyr. It was widely known about the affection Littlefinger had towards Catelyn Stark, but Petyr was ten steps ahead of him.

“Yes,” Petyr drawled, “If people were smart, they’d avoid weddings altogether. Dreadfully trite affairs that are only made worse by cheap wine and sobriety. One would find death preferable.”

Manderly let out a raucous laugh. “So true, so true! Ah Littlef- erm, Baelish, I must commend you on such a wonderful feast. I can’t remember the last time I had fruits from Dorne. And this wine! Arbor Gold. Nothing better….AH! It’s about time!”

Servants entered the hall bearing three massive pies still steaming from the oven. Sansa risked a glance to Petyr but he ignored her completely.

“Well, Baelish, I am aiming to top you this night! Feast on these meat pies! Only the best meat, I assure you. The best you’ve ever tasted, my friends!” Manderly drunkenly boasted.

“Come now, Ramsay! You should cut the first piece!” Manderly chided but Ramsay would have none of it. After what happened to Joffery, she could not have blamed him. Manderly didn’t seem, in any way, untrustworthy. He was a jolly fellow and quite enjoying the feast. “Good heavens, you lot! Bring that here, you!”

The old, portly man signalled the servant to bring him a plate heaping with a meat pie. Sansa wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. If this man had poisoned the pies, he would surely die. Lord Bolton must have been thinking the same and waited for the man to take the first bite.

“Well done! Delicious!” Manderly crowed. "Here, serve my friends, the Freys! They deserve to taste this while it's piping hot! Let bygones be bygones, this is grand feast after all. We must celebrate our new Warden of the North!" Lord Bolton, satisfied, that the man wasn’t about to die, signalled the servants to serve the pies to everyone in the hall. Plates were set before Ramsay and herself and she could only stare at it, wondering why Petyr said not to eat it as her mind tried to puzzle it out. She looked about the room and back to Manderly. Why was he incessant that Ramsay and the Freys eat first? Why bake three huge pies? She remembered only one pie at Joffery's wedding and that had twice the guests. An overheard argument rang in her head from earlier that day. The Freys. They were angry at this man for something. Some of their kin didn't arrive in Winterfell? Then horror dawned on her... _Three._ Three Freys were missing. Three pies.

_Don't eat the meat pies._

She didn't even think about taking revenge on the Freys. She had almost forgotten about them. Petyr had planned... _Oh Seven Hells..._

_He knows I'm not a man to be trifled with._

  
Ramsay, with a full mouth, the meat rolling uncouthly as he finally spoke to her,  
“You’re not eating.” A bit of spittle hitting her in the process. She was going to be sick.

“I- I don’t care for meat pies, or meat in general…” Sansa wasn’t completely lying. She did prefer eating fruits, vegetables and breads. Now, she was confident she'd never eat meat ever again. She pushed the pie away almost believing it could get up and walk away on it's own. She wanted so much to be seated near Petyr. That perhaps his closeness would give her courage. She didn’t dare look towards him while Ramsay was eyeing her.

“You are rather willful, aren’t you? I may have to break you of that.” His words were as menacing as anything she heard from Joffery. All she could do was look down at her food and play the submissive bride. The last thing she needed was Ramsay suspicious that she was anything but weak and non-threatening. It wasn’t hard to fake for she was scared out of her mind.

She looked towards Petyr for distraction noticing he had not touched his pie, either. He was deep in conversation with Lord Bolton and paid her no mind at all. Nothing phased him. Not even the reality that the Freys were eating their own! Sansa wanted to think it was just the game they were playing, but it didn’t ease her mind. She kept wondering when Petyr would strike. He didn’t poison the wine nor the pies. Where soldiers to storm in and kill everyone? Sansa kept waiting and waiting for what seemed like an eternity. Nothing. She was becoming more nervous by the second and her then her heart stopped.

“Enough of this. Father, I’m going to fuck my pretty little bride bloody. I hope you taught her well, Littlefinger. I plan to break her in fully tonight.” Ramsay sneered and yanked Sansa out of her seat.

Terrified, Sansa shot a look of alarm at Petyr. He said he wouldn’t let Ramsay bed her, but he did nothing. Nothing! No poison, no swords…. nothing but japes with men over wine and meat pies! Oh Gods, this wasn’t happening to her. He wasn’t going to sit there and let this happen, was he? Why wouldn’t he look at her?

Her heart broke at the level of betrayal of his nonchalant words.

“Enjoy her. You’re lucky to get a virgin so lovely, even from me. They are so rare nowadays. But I guarantee she’s a sweet virgin, I checked her myself just last night. A price my most wealthy patrons would pay any sum for.”


	5. Black Wedding Part 2

As Ramsay dragged her down the corridor, Sansa could still hear the laughter and drunken chatter from the great hall. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as she slowly climbed the stairs to uncertainty. All she could see was Petyr sitting at the table throwing her away like one of his whores he no longer needed. His voice was emotionless as he told the Boltons he had carnal knowledge of her. Is that why he asked about Tyrion? He wanted to know if she was a virgin and be able to sell her to Ramsay? Everything that night was only business to him. He made her trust him so she wouldn’t fight this marriage…. this alliance. It was all about him and what he could get. He never cared about her. He used her. It was all a lie from the beginning.

In the midst of all this loathing, all she could hear was Petyr’s voice.

_You need to know how to handle him_

She could hear Ramsay talking to her, but it was though she was in a fog. Her mind was reeling on how she was going to get away. She could run now, but he would easily capture her and what then? She had no weapon to attack him with and even then he would most likely over-power her. Dread and hopelessness were sinking in fast. Her brain was telling her to put one foot in front of the other. Soon, they would be at his chamber door. She needed to think.

_You want to play the vulnerable virgin, but you won’t be_

Sansa wanted Petyr out of her head. She would kill him if she got out of this mess, she promised herself that. But, he was right. She knew it. If she ran, fought, cried… somehow she knew it would be worse.

_Do not give him control, but make him believe he has it_

A few more steps and they would be at his bedchamber.

_Remember who you are. You are strong, beautiful and fearless. This is your home, your land, and your vengeance_

Petyr’s voice was stronger than ever in her mind as though he was there whispering in her ear as she walked. Sansa knew she wasn’t going to let this happen without a fight. She needed to play her cards just right. Play _him_ , just right.

_You can’t let that fear and inexperience stay your hand when the time presents itself to kill_

The memory of watching Joffery choke to death that day at the wedding entered her mind. She remembered wanting to push him off that ledge when he gloated over her fathers head on a spike. She needed that feeling, the need …the desire to kill. Sansa pictured Petyr at the table and heard his words ring clear. The hate bubbled up so rapidly she had to contain it. Hate was building walls around her fear. Hate would get her through this. Oh, she would play this part, this vulnerable bird. For even the smallest bird has claws.

Ramsay opened the door and waited to see what she would do. Sansa played submissive and slowly walked through the door looking at the floor.

_Play the part_

She didn’t want to fully search the room for a weapon, which would be too obvious. She needed to be subtle. Sansa didn’t want to underestimate this man. He was more vicious that Joffery could ever have been. He would be expecting her to make a stupid move. Be scared, he wants you to be scared of him. He wants to be the master. Let him.

“Well, I didn’t expect Littlefinger to have a niece, let alone one with a pretty face,” Ramsay spoke in such a gentle manner; it threw her off guard for a moment. “I suppose I should call you Alayne, my lady wife now, shouldn’t I?” He poured himself a glass of wine and observed her.

_He wants me to let my guard down. It’s a game._

“If you wish to, my Lord,” she offered quietly _._ The polite mannerism she slipped back into from her days at Kings Landing was effortless. If she could dodge Joffery’s bouts of cruelty, she could summon the courage to play this man. She was no longer that naïve maid that left Winterfell years ago.

“What I _wish_ is to see is if you know how to please a man. Did your uncle teach you that in his brothels? Or perhaps you just let him tongue your cunt instead like a selfish rutting whore?” He approached her like a wild animal stalking its prey. “Are you a selfish whore, _my lady_?” His eyes gleamed with sick enjoyment. Sansa was scared but she pushed it down into the pit of her stomach. He likes to play with his toys, like a cat with a mouse before devouring it whole.

_Expect his touch… know it’s coming_

He was standing before her gauging her response. Before she uttered a word, a figure moved in the background. They weren’t alone in this room!

Ramsay’s eyes followed her to the man lurking in the corner like a wounded animal.

“Ah! There you are!” He made his way to the man and panic hit her square in the chest. “Reek, I want you to meet my new lady wife.” He introduced her with a wicked jeer. “ _Alayne_.”

Ramsay put his arm around Theon Greyjoy, with a strange tenderness that confounded her. This man couldn’t be Theon! Theon was strong, kind and almost like a brother when she was a child. Even when he betrayed her brother Robb and sacked Winterfell, she never would have imagined him devolving into this pitiful sight before her. He was scared of Ramsay, that she saw by his body language and Sansa knew she was in real trouble.

“Reek, isn’t my new wife pretty?” Ramsay smiled at Sansa in a way that chilled her bones.

Theon, this _Reek_ as he called him, could only manage a nod and was trying to avoid looking at her altogether. What did Ramsay do to make Theon this way? The panic that she tried so hard to suppress was rising up in her chest again. She needed to get a little control, but it was quickly slipping away.

“That’s not very polite, Reek. You like pretty girls. Now, _look_ at her!” Ramsay grabbed Theon’s face and forced him to look at her. Yes, there was definite fear in his eyes. Gods, if Theon, a man that she knew to be strong, was scared of Ramsay, then she was in way over her head. Did Petyr know? And he married her off to him anyway? She couldn’t hate him more than she did right now.

She tried to muster all the courage she had just to speak, but her voice was so weak, she wasn’t sure they heard her. “What is this?”

Oh, he heard her. She must have sounded as scared as she felt because an evil grin spread upon Ramsay’s face. “ _This?_ Oh, this is something special for a singular night. Reek here,” he patted Theon like a dog that was well trained, “is my beloved. My brother. You see, it’s been a long time since he’s seen a pretty girl and I wanted to give him a gift.”

Sansa couldn’t move. She never could have been prepared to fight two men. She didn’t even believe she could do anything against Ramsay alone. Damn Petyr! Damn him for putting her here!

Any courage she had was gone. Tears began to well up in her eyes and she couldn’t stop it. “I – I don’t… _please_.” She knew it wouldn’t help her, but the words fell out of her mouth regardless.

“Reek, did you hear her? She doesn’t want to play our games, does she?” Ramsay strode to her in a heartbeat and grabbed a fist full of her hair. Sansa screamed as he pushed her towards Theon. “I think my lady wife is not very nice at all.”

Sansa’s tear-streaked face was only a centimetres away from Theon. She begged him with terror in her eyes. He recognized her at the feast, she knew he did the way he looked at her. “ _Please_ , “ she pleaded him. But his eyes were full of fear and sorrow.

“You want him instead of your husband?” Ramsay laughed in her ear, tightening his grip on her hair. “Oh, you are a whore then.” With his other hand, he tore away the back of her silver gown, leaving it in tatters. “Whores don’t need clothes, do they?”

She was right back in Kings Landing, when Joffery threatened to have her beat in front of the entire court. Only Tyrion had saved her at the last moment. No one was here to save her now. She looked at Theon and he had tears in his eyes. He had to be in there somewhere. He didn’t want this to happen to her. She was always kind to him and treated him like a brother. His eyes told her the truth.

Sansa had no choice now, “Theon, _please_ ….please help me.”

Ramsay stalled his actions and regarded the two of them with lightning suspicion. “Reek,” his tone was menacing as his mind was quickly figuring things out, “you know her?” It wasn’t a question.

Theon quickly looked away and mumbled something while shaking his head but Ramsay wasn’t satisfied. He pulled out a small knife and held it close to Theon’s eye socket. “Who is she?” Theon was breathing as rapidly as Sansa’s heart raced.

Ramsay flicked the blade and cut the delicate skin under his eye, “WHO IS SHE!” he roared!

“Sss-ansaa….” Theon mumbled and tears fell that mixed with blood on his face. Ramsay slowly turned to gaze gloriously at Sansa. “The last Stark has come back to Winterfell? Oh, what a fine gift this is. Thank you Reek, you’ve made me very happy. I’ll reward you well for this prize.”

Sansa held onto her torn dress as she backed up slowly. She felt something hit the back of her legs and could move no further. Ramsay sauntered up to her and she fell back and onto the mattress of his bed.

“Well, well well… _Sansa Stark_. You are definitely too beautiful to be related to Littlefinger. Smart that one, to dye your pretty Tully hair. Did he dye your cunny hair as well or will it match the colour of your maidenhead when I take it?”

Sansa scurried back until the hardwood of the bed prevented her from moving away. This wasn’t happening! She was going to be raped and tortured by Ramsay Bolton while Theon Greyjoy watched.

“Sansa, I just want you to know that I will enjoy this more than any woman I have ever flayed.” Ramsay dropped the knife and seized her feet and tried to pull her towards him. She turned on her stomach and grasped the upper edge of the mattress and held on as she let out a blood-curdling scream! “PETYR! Petyr help me, PLEASE!”

Her hands dug deeper and scraped for anything to hold on to when her fingers brushed cold metal. A dagger! There was a dagger hidden between the wood and mattress. The adrenaline pulsed through her body as she latched on to the hilt. She could feel Ramsay crawling up behind her and unlacing his breeches. She closed her eyes instinctively.

_No. Open your eyes_

Ramsay pulled her hips up and she knew he was going to rape her from behind. This was it!

  
_Do not hesitate…  
_

She sucked in a sharp breath, and with all the force she could summon, swung her arm wielding the dagger around as her body followed. It was so instantaneous; she didn’t know what had happened until the first spurt of blood hit her body.

A massive gash lay across his lower neck where it met his body. Blood was oozing, but not abundantly. She hadn’t cut deep enough, she thought in terror. Just then, a loud crash erupted from somewhere. Sansa could hear screams and the clanging of swords. It sounded like a war was waging below. It distracted Ramsay just long enough to take his eyes off her and Sansa didn’t waste the opportunity. With all her strength, she rammed the dagger deep into his chest. Ramsay’s eyes bore into hers with wild disbelief. The dagger was still lodged in his chest when his hands came about her slender throat. Gods, he still had strength enough to push her down. She couldn't breathe while she pushed him will all her strength and her legs kicked.

All of a sudden, Ramsay’s eyes were wide as saucers and released his death grip. Behind him, Theon had stabbed him in the back with the knife Ramsay dropped only moments ago. Ramsay fell off the bed taking Sansa with him. He attempted to pull the dagger from his chest and suddenly something came over her and she yanked it from his dying body. Before she knew what she was doing, she drove the blade into him again and again.

Every horrible thing that had ever happened to her since leaving Winterfell, came forward in a gust hatred and anguish. She saw Joffery’s smug face before her. This is for Lady! This is for my father! She wasn’t stabbing Ramsay any longer. It was Cersei, Lysa, it was everyone that hurt her and her family. This is for Robb, my mother, my brothers! Her murderous hand had a mind of its own now. She saw Petyr’s face and starting wailing blow after blow.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard a man scream her name. She didn’t know that name anymore. That girl was dead and gone. All she felt was anger and hatred and was taking it out on the dead man under her. His blood was in her eyes and her tears mixed with the metallic taste in her mouth. She was pummeling his body with the blood-soaked dagger and sobbing uncontrollably as the door was broken open.

There was nothing but silence. The men stood speechless at the scene before them. Sansa was straddling Ramsay’s body, soaked in his blood. Her eyes were blank and stared at nothing. Her numb and shaking hand wielded the dagger as a warning. This caged animal still had claws and she would kill anyone that came near.

“Sansa,” his voice was gentle as a morning breeze. She knew that voice.

Petyr tentatively stepped towards her and she instinctively brought the dagger up to protect herself. “ _Sansa…_ ” He moved so slowly before her, crouching down until he was close enough that she could see his face. His gaze was a mixture of worry and ultimate sorrow. She could see now, that he too had blood on him. He approached her like that of a scared animal.

“Sweetling?” She could feel how near he was. Her blood pumped so hard and fast, it made her dizzy.

_Do not hesitate… even if it’s me, sweetling_

She struck out, but only half-heartedly. Petyr grabbed her wrist wielding the blade and gently removed it from her grip. His eyes couldn’t lie. She saw shock, the utter disbelief in this woman before him. But it was the sadness, that horrible sadness in the way he looked at her which brought her back.

Anger welled up again. How dare he show emotion! Now? Now, after everything he put her through! With her free hand, she hit him as hard as she could in the chest and sobbed. She was inconsolable as she hit him and he let her. He knew he deserved it and let her release it all upon him. There were no words, just hate. She hated him, oh how she hated him!

“Get out… all of you.” Petyr quietly ordered the guards. Theon stood dumbfounded and retreated to the corner of the room. Sansa was going to retch, she could feel it. She stumbled to her feet and wandered aimlessly like a madwoman. She could see Ramsay’s mutilated body on the floor, Theon hiding in the corner and Petyr standing nearby concerned and scared. The room was spinning and she couldn’t feel her feet.

She couldn’t breathe and she felt herself falling.

Before she blacked out, she felt strong arms wrap around her that kept her from hitting the ground and a voice that whispered, “I’m sorry, sweetling, _please forgive me._ ”


	6. What Have I Done to You?

She was floating, her body weightless, as she felt herself slowly drift away from the black abyss. Sansa’s eyes struggled to open but they were heavy, oh so heavy. It was dark and the only light came from torch sconces along the walls as they passed one by one.

Someone was carrying her down a long corridor. She managed barely enough strength to look up before fainting again, catching a glimpse of Petyr’s face between the light and shadow.

Words were being spoken quietly and feet scurrying across the hard stone as a door closed. Petyr laid her down upon a lounge and she could hear clothing being removed from a distance. Sansa tried to move but her limbs wouldn’t respond. She was so weak but her voice strangled a soft “ _No_ ”.

Petyr had only disrobed his blood-stained doublet and rushed back to her side. “Shhhh… sweetling, shhh. It’s all right now…I’ll return in a moment.” he whispered.

Petyr walked into the adjacent room and all she could do was lay in wait. She had no more strength to fight. She was completely numb and could no more move a muscle than a dead woman.

 _Dead_. That’s how she felt. She couldn’t feel anything. Fear, anger, hatred, sorrow… she was an empty void surrounded by a bloodied shell. Sansa managed to look down and saw she was soaked with blood, Ramsay’s blood. Her hands were stained a deep red and the sticky feel of it made her skin crawl.

 _Clean hands, Sansa. Whatever you do, make certain your hands are clean_.

An involuntary and humourless chuckle resonated in her chest. I’m going mad, she thought. Sansa could hear the sound of water being poured into a basin and moments later Petyr returned to her still wearing his tunic. He sat her up gently, and without saying a word lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

Petyr carried her into the room where a large copper tub awaited with fresh, hot water. He sat her down again, this time on a little stool and silently watched her for only a moment. Sansa didn’t move nor looked at him. She could only sit there and stare at nothing. Young Sansa would have been shocked by a man carrying her into a bath chamber but the girl that sat in front of him now, half-naked and covered in blood, didn’t care about anything anymore.

Petyr knelt before her and contemplated his next action. It was if he moved in slow motion as he reached to touch the once beautiful gown he gave her. His hand lay softly on the fabric barely covering her shoulder. He was asking for permission but when she didn’t react in any way, he began gently peeling the ruined garment from her limbs. Slowly, he undressed her all the while his eyes never left her face. There was nothing sexual in his touch or manner, only that of concern.

Sansa didn’t even try to conceal her naked body unveiling before him. He continued on dutifully making easy work of it. Ramsay had ripped the back open that when Petyr lifted her up again, the dress fell to the floor in a blood sodden heap. For a moment, he held her limp body against him but when her legs shook lightly and she could feel them give way, he moved her to the tub.

Petyr placed her in the bathing tub and came to sit on the vacated stool. He rested his forearms on the rim of the tub and regarded her with unease. She couldn’t look at him, but out of the corner of her eye she could see that he had blood splatter on his face. She wondered vaguely if he had killed Roose Bolton himself. She felt him examining her over with his eyes and this time she could read _his_ mind. He was contemplating if he should leave her to bathe alone. Would she harm herself or faint again and accidentally drown?

Without asking or waiting for an answer, he rolled up his sleeves, picked up a sponge and dipped it in the steaming water. Petyr squeezed the sponge and the water ran down her back. He repeated the action again and the water began to turn a pinkish hue. He sighed, and just as a parent would bathe a young child, Petyr set to work. With a small pitcher, he soaked her bloodied hair and then began to lather a soap scented with oils.

He worked the lather through her hair with practised hands lightly massaging her scalp. If this had been different circumstance, Sansa admitted she would have moaned at how good it felt. All she could do was close her eyes. She hated his gentleness but she had no fight left in her. She let him sponge her skin and each tender stroke was an apology. The soft scent of sandalwood and the heat of the water were lulling her to sleep. She felt his fingers tenderly wash her face and she almost leaned into his hand. She was exhausted and her body sore. She wanted to sleep forever. Petyr took another pitcher of clean water and poured it over her head, letting it rinse away the remains of this horrific night.

Sansa tried to stand up on her own only to slip as Petyr caught her in his arms once again. She had to hold on to him as he helped her step out of the tub. The front of his clothes were soaked through when he wrapped her in heavy cloth before guiding her out the doorway. It was his bedchamber, she realized, as he sat her down in front of a now crackling fire. Petyr lightly dried her off and every time he tried to catch her eyes, she would look away. Defeated, he got up and retrieved a clean silk tunic from his wardrobe. Sansa stared into the fire when the clothing was handed to her. Without a glance, she took it from him and he walked away removing his own soaked clothing towards the bath.

She could hear him in the next room cleaning himself up. The silken fabric of his tunic lay in her hands and she had a mind to toss it on the fire. Only the finest silk for him, she thought. In a dreamlike state, she slid her arms through the sleeves and pulled the tunic across her body. Petyr wasn’t a large man, but his clothing drowned her. It had his scent, it was subtle but it was there. Sansa was trying to lace the few ties on the tunic when Petyr returned sometime later from the bath. She couldn’t make her fingers work, they wouldn’t obey such a simple task. She didn’t realize he was so close until she saw his hands take over and finish the job.

He sighed, trying to find the right words to say, but they wouldn’t come. What could they possibly say to one another?

A tear fell, and then another. She couldn’t have stopped them if she tried. The events of the evening came back in vivid detail. She was almost raped. She killed a man, but she didn’t just kill him, she mutilated him. The floodgates opened and she cried harder more than ever in her life.

Petyr took her in his arms and held her tightly as she sobbed. She was torn between wanting to hold onto him for dear life or beat him senseless. He was offering comfort but she didn’t want it. He did this to her. She was in this nightmare because of him. She struggled against him pushing him away and slapped his face hard enough to whip his head back. He didn’t speak, not a sound. When he looked at her, she noticed his smooth face for the first time. She almost didn’t recognize him clean-shaven. She wondered why now he decided to do it.

Sansa wanted him to say something, anything but he only returned her stare. In a rage, she hit him again and again. She was wailing at him as her fists struck his chest and he let vent out her anger upon him. Finally, his hands grabbed hers to stop the barrage and hauled her into his arms again. This time, his hold on her was so strong she couldn’t break free. She struggled but eventually gave up and cried into his chest, “I _hate_ you.”

Sansa couldn’t see his face as his chin rested upon her head, but his voice was broken, “I know.”

She didn’t know how long he held her in front of that fire. When she finally settled down, Petyr drew her up and walked her to the waiting bed. Turning down the covers, she crawled in completely drained. Her body sunk into the soft down and he drew the cover over her, tucking her in.

“Here, drink this.”

Petyr handed her a small vial containing a pale liquid. “Sweetsleep,” answering her silent question. If he wanted her dead, he would have done it long before now. Sansa downed it all and turned to her side away from him.

All that could be heard was the soft crackle of the fire and all the things left unsaid.

Petyr lightly brushed his fingers across a few damp strands of hair that fell over her face, drawing them away. She ignored him, his touch, and wished he would just go away and leave her alone.

Petyr seemed to be struggling for the words but it wasn’t an apology that came forth. The tortured sound that arose from his voice was almost enough to break her. _Almost._

“Did he hurt you?”

He asked the question, but for the first time since she’d met Petyr, it sounded as though he didn’t want to know the answer.

_No. Not physically, really. But Petyr didn’t need to know that.  
_

She wanted to hurt him as he hurt her tonight. The sweetsleep was working fast and she felt herself falling back into that dreamless abyss. She closed her eyes, refusing to look at him and lied.

_“Yes.”_

* * *

  
  


_Yes_

That word haunted him, more than he ever expected it would.

An inkblot grew larger on the parchment dripping from the quill in his still hand. Petyr didn’t know how long he had been staring at the last words he had written. His mind wasn’t on the letters that needed to be sent, but the broken girl in his bed. The girl _he_ broke to further his plans.

Never before, in all his years in the Vale and Kings Landing, did it ever bother him to use anyone for his own purpose. He knew what needed to be done and did it. No regrets. The people he dealt with meant nothing to him. They were all just pieces needing to be moved to their proper place on the board. The end justified the means he told himself.

The candle burned low on his desk. The pale light from the window told him it would be dawn soon. Petyr couldn’t remember the last time he was this tired; his eyes stung pleading to be closed. He replaced the quill to the well and he rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. He closed his eyes and rested his head on his hand.

_Just a few minutes, all I need is a few minutes_

He couldn’t look at her. If he saw her frightened eyes, he would lose his resolve and the plan would all go to hell. Instead, his answer hit a new low even for him.

Roose had cornered him earlier that day over a guard seeing Alayne entering and leaving Petyr’s bedchamber the night before. Petyr knew he had to be careful for Lord Bolton wasn’t a stupid man.

He didn’t need to see her face to know he hurt her. I'm making her stronger, he lied to himself.

The minutes seemed like hours and he was straining to keep calm. He didn’t want her anywhere near Ramsay. He hid a few weapons in the bastards bedchamber and when he finally had a private moment with Sansa before the ceremony, told her where they were. She didn’t seem to hear him, so he didn’t press further to patronize her. He felt she was strong enough to handle this, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Petyr glanced at Manderly who was brilliantly acting the drunken fool. He discreetly nodded and Manderly rose from his seat. “Friends, friends… come let us toast Lord Bolton, the new Warden of the North!” he declared.

Petyr stood with his goblet in his left hand and his right hand hidden behind his back. The guests raised their goblets in salute. Manderly strode down to the last massive meat pie.

“Here boy, you’re too slow. The damned thing will be cold before you serve it. I was hoping Ramsay would take a sword to this, but the pleasure will be mine.” Manderly drew his sword and for an old man, swung it deep into the pie to the bottom. The contents spilt out onto the stone in front of the Freys. All stood shocked looking at the chopped remains of the three missing Freys.

Suddenly, everything moved in slow motion. Petyr felt of spray of blood on his face as he cut Roose Bolton’s throat from behind his seat. “Compliments of Catelyn Tully…” he spat viciously.

He heard a scream from somewhere above as Vale guards quickly killed Bolton’s men. One Frey was hit with three arrows as the others tried to defend themselves. Guests were fleeing or trying to hide from the slaughter that ensued.

Petyr was running and four of his guards followed through the mass of people. His heart raced and his legs couldn’t move fast enough. He made his way out of the great hall towards the staircase and his heart skipped a beat when a harrowing scream echoed down.

_“PETYR!”_

He jolted awake still sitting at his desk. He was breathing heavy and his chest pained. He looked around the room and it was still dark save the low flicker of the lone candle.

He heard his name again, but this time it came from the direction of his bed. He rushed over and saw that she was restless but still asleep. The dose of sweetsleep he gave her would make her sleep the clock round. He sat gently on the bed and ran his fingers through her hair.

 _Gods, she is beautiful_.

The first time he saw her at the tourney, he could have sworn it was Cat when they were children. At first, he found enjoyment just toying with her, seeing what she was made of. She had Cat’s spark but there was something else that intrigued him. He saw a different kind of strength and quiet wit.

He never expected Ned Stark to die the way he did. It wasn’t as though he didn’t warn the man. Confronting and underestimating Cersei was Ned’s biggest mistake. The man didn’t even know what game he was playing, let alone how to play. The Starks never were that bright… until this girl.

Smart, he thought. After her father’s death, she played the part she needed to in order to survive the Lannisters. She was a survivor… like him. She was playing the game better than others without even knowing it. It was then; he knew he could teach this little bird. Originally it was out of love for Cat that he would in-turn protect her daughter, save her if need be. He would return Sansa to her mother and foolishly thought that perhaps Cat would see him as he always wanted her to; a saviour, a champion. But love was for fairytales, he was too old to believe and soon Cat was dead.

 _Cat._ He didn't even know how to mourn her except with revenge. He knew, in his heart, long ago that Cat never loved him, but part of him hoped that one day... perhaps if circumstances were different. He knew he was fooling himself the last time he saw her in Renly's camp. He would always be that wishful little boy when he was around her. She honestly loved Ned Stark and nothing would ever change it. This time he expected the rejection, the final loss and closed the door once and for all.

What he didn’t expect was truly caring for Sansa. With every visit, conversation, gentle guidance, he was falling for this girl. He wasn’t a fool, he knew he was twice her age and he shouldn’t be feeling this way for someone so young. He tried to convince himself it was because of Cat. Sansa made him feel young again. He knew she wouldn’t want him, an older man when she could have her pick of any handsome knight. But he also understood that they would never respect her as he did.

She was a name, a prize and nothing more. They would never appreciate the brains underneath the beauty. Petyr knew he was using her too, but he tried to convince himself it was for her own good. He would make her Queen of the North. She would heed his counsel and be no man’s prize.

It was sheer spontaneity that he kissed her at the Eyrie. He hadn’t meant to, but it was a beautiful moment he couldn’t let pass. He felt her resist, but for a heartbeat she yielded to him. He let her go and didn’t press it further.

He had always intended to kill Lysa but when he heard her screaming and shoving Sansa to the edge of the Moon Door, he couldn’t wait. It wasn’t planned and he wasn’t fully prepared for the aftermath. Sansa easily could have sold him out and sought protection from the Vale lords but she saved him. She was gambling on him. She was gambling her life staying with him. She wasn’t stupid; she knew he was more than fond of her as much as he would have tried to hide it.

He tried to distance himself and return to how they used to interact in Kings Landing. He could sense the confusion in her. Petyr continued instructing her but when the time came to move on the Boltons he had his first real doubts. If it had been another girl, he wouldn’t have cared about the outcome. But this was Sansa and he truly didn’t want her to be hurt in any way. Petyr was always ready to risk everything to win the game, but he wasn’t just risking himself anymore. He hated himself for caring. He taught himself many years ago that caring for others was for idiots. Sansa made him want to love again, if only for a stolen kiss in the snow.

When she cried and refused to marry Ramsay after telling her of his plot, he was actually ready to acquiesce to her demands. He would have turned the horses around and taken her back to the Vale. Petyr tried to distance himself once again; the game would be better played taking back Winterfell before Stannis took it for himself. Petyr needed Winterfell as a bargaining chip to deal with Stannis. He pressured Sansa to play the part and take vengeance and he succeeded.

However, watching Ramsay eye Sansa as she walked around her former home didn’t sit well with Petyr. He heard about this bastard and he never trusted Roose. There was something about his new son that worried him. Worried for her. Damnit, he wished he could turn off his emotions but as the day wore on, it proved to be useless.

Escorting Sansa to her bedchamber, he discreetly gave her a dagger. He had checked her room earlier and noticed the door couldn’t be bolted. She was specifically given that room. He didn’t dare sleep with his own door unlocked in this place but he surely wasn’t going to leave her defenceless. Two options he gave her and she chose both when she entered his room.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but when he felt someone lean across his bed, he reacted in the only way to keep himself alive. He could have killed her that night. Why she didn't run, he didn't understand. Instead, she forgave him.

She continued to surprise him in every way. Her gentleness and acceptance of him. She didn’t ask about his scar and she didn’t need to. When she embraced him, he never wanted to hold a woman so much in his entire life. Something had changed between them in that moment. This young girl that he manipulated and lied to was giving _him_ comfort. He wanted so badly to kiss her at that moment. He couldn’t break that trust he had gained in her.

_Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Petyr_

He never intended it to go as far at did. He only wanted her to be strong and unafraid. He knew she was a virgin. He thanked Tyrion for that one blessing.

Her mouth was so sweet and the way she felt beneath him was better than he ever could have dreamed. She kissed him back; touched him and he could no longer deny his feelings. He loved this girl… this woman. Gods be kind that he had enough control to stop when she took him in her hand. She wanted him and if it had been any other time or place he would have made love to her. This tortured girl was letting him touch and love her and tomorrow he would throw her to the wolves. He knew he couldn’t keep his promise, but for the love of the Gods he would try. He knew she needed to leave the great hall. Separating Roose and Ramsay was the best way to kill them both, he thought. He was too scared that Sansa would have met her mother's fate having her own throat slit before him. He couldn't bear that. She would have a better chance away from everyone. That's what he tried to convince himself of.

When he heard her scream, he couldn’t fly to her side fast enough. Every worst nightmare rang in his head as he ran up the stairs. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw as the door was broken in.

_Oh Sweetling, what have I done to you?_

Petyr lay down next to Sansa on the bed and cradled her to him. She wouldn’t protest or even know in her drug-induced slumber. This could be the last time he would ever be able to hold her. She hated him now. He knew this was a bridge he most likely would never be able to re-build. She would never trust him again. Not like that. He would advise her and continue on with his plans. He will make her Wardeness of the North and if she wanted him to leave, he would.

Right now, he would steal this last moment alone with her. Soon she would wake and the world would be different. Petyr caressed her face and for the first time since he was a boy, he felt tears sting his eyes as he held her. As light as a feather, he kissed her lips. She turned to him unconsciously in sleep nestling into his chest and wrapping an arm about his waist, finally breaking his heart.

"Goodnight, my beloved."


	7. Bittersweet

Sansa slowly began to wake. Her hand searched for something and found herself alone in the large bed. She could have sworn Petyr was lying next to her but it was only his scent on the pillow and the tunic she wore. She heard a faint scratching from across the room and looked to find Petyr at his desk completely absorbed.

He stayed all night, she thought. She didn’t know if she was angry with him or not for remaining in the same room after what happened. She sat up quietly and observed him. A stack of letters had been written and yet he was still working. Sansa wondered if Petyr ever slept. She looked at the bed and it was clear she was the only one that lay in it last night.

Petyr glanced her way but didn’t say a word and continued his attentions on the letter before him. What did she want him to say or did he expect her to be the first to speak?

“What is the time?” Sansa felt terribly groggy.

“Past midday,” he said nonchalantly without looking at her. “I took the liberty of bringing up some fruit, cheese and bread for you. I thought you might be hungry. It’s probably not best to drink any wine after that much sweetsleep though.”

Was he really going to act as though nothing happened? Sansa saw the tray of food sitting on the table next to him. Clearly, he wasn’t going to bring it to her, so she left the warmth of the bed and crossed the room to where he was working. Gods, it was cold in here. The fire was burning but it only became warmer the nearer she came to it.

She stood by his desk and picked through the food. She couldn’t get over how different he now looked with a smooth face. He seemed younger but still older at the same time. The dark circles under his eyes told her he never slept last night.

Sansa could see Petyr’s ink-stained fingers as she picked up a piece of cheese and took a small bite. He had been writing all night she surmised. She tried to see what he was so focused on and Petyr read her mind, as he always did.

“It’s to your half-brother, Jon Snow, letting him know that Winterfell is once again in Stark hands. I’ve already written a letter to Stannis. We should hear from him soon, I gather. He’s made your brother Lord Commander I hear… should please him to find his sister back home and safe…” Sansa wasn’t sure what she anticipated when she awoke, but this cold indifference took her off guard. He looked so grief-stricken last night but now he was void of emotion. It was Littlefinger sitting at this desk. There was a chill in the air and it wasn’t just from the winter cold.

Sansa became aware that she still wore Petyr’s silk tunic, which came to her knees. She was bare beneath it and a cool blush swept her cheeks. Petyr glanced at her again, “You should put on something… more appropriate… _warmer_.”

Sansa scoffed, “You’ve seen me in much less. There’s no one else is in this room…”

“Yes, but… it's different now. You needn’t worry, it won’t happen again, my lady.” Petyr began picking up the papers, which gave him a task so to avoid looking at her.

He crossed to his wardrobe and picked out a clean doublet, draping it over his arm.

“I’ll send in your handmaiden with fresh clothes and have them move your belongings to the master bedchamber. I instructed to have it properly cleaned for you today. Oh, and I have a compound that will remove the dye from your hair when you’re ready.” Petyr smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was a pang of unmistakable sadness in his eyes that he tried to conceal as he bowed slightly and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Sansa stood there dumbfounded. She didn’t know what had just happened. She honestly didn’t know what she expected after last night, but somehow this wasn’t it. She was angry with him, wasn’t she? Everything changed between them and yet somehow it was the same. Sansa didn’t know what to make of it.

“I _hate_ you…"

“I know.”

She didn’t imagine the hurt in his voice, did she? This man that was scared to know what happened to her in that bedchamber before he broke down the door. He did come for her, but it was too late. What was left of her died in that room. She didn’t know who or what she was now. Was she her own master now or still Petyr’s pawn?

The way he spoke led her to believe that he was handing Winterfell and her life back to her. He was making the necessary arrangements. Did he not plan on staying with her? Did she want him to stay?

Sansa was so confused. She was beginning to care for him, but he betrayed her trust. She convinced herself she wanted to hurt him, to make him believe that Ramsay did terrible things to her. She wanted to hurt him and she did. She could see it in his eyes. But Littlefinger was an excellent liar, she told herself. This could still be a part of his plan to…

Sansa sat down in his chair. She was fooling herself. She had no clue what his plan was or if it included her in it.

She looked at the food on the table and no longer was she hungry.

* * *

Petyr closed the door and leaned against it softly. He had to pull himself together or she’d see right through him. This is what needed to be done, he convinced himself. She was his weakness and he couldn’t do with that. Sansa needed to stand on her own two feet and take charge of her life. She would never do it while he was there planning it for her.

Soon, Stannis would arrive in Winterfell and Petyr needed to plan his next move. Her brother could protect her now. Who better? It was done and Petyr needed this time to walk away. Perhaps not soon, but eventually she would marry again. A man of her choosing, probably a young and handsome knight, and he couldn’t watch it happen. Not a second time.

Before she awoke, he already had every able body cleaning the massacre from the wedding. The flayed bodies of Ramsay’s poor victims hanging around the courtyard cut down and buried. Petyr wanted every semblance of the Boltons removed from Winterfell.

The last item on his list was the other man in Ramsay’s bedchamber. He had not forgotten about him. Petyr made his way to the great hall to find out more about this strange creature called Reek.

* * *

Sansa spent most of the afternoon in her new quarters. It was her parents’ room. The realization that they were gone and she was all alone in this world hit hard. But she had no more tears; she cried them all last night in Petyr’s arms. She gazed out the window overlooking the grounds of her home. She could see Petyr had set everyone to work to rebuilding and making Winterfell hers again. She wondered how much money he was spending since the death of her father, Winterfell was no longer prosperous. She heard him telling Roose that a bounty of grain, livestock and provisions were being sent here as a wedding gift and should be arriving tomorrow.

_He’s preparing me for the winter_

He would spend a fortune to give her back her birthright. Stannis and his army could be here before the month was out, hopefully, endorse her claim and then move south to take Kings Landing. She didn’t care who sat on the iron throne now just as long as it wasn’t a Lannister.

Sansa called her handmaiden to her and instructed her to remove the dye from her hair. The bottle Petyr supplied seemed large enough to coat all of her hair. If not, she supposed she could cut some of it off. She wanted her auburn locks back one way or another. It’s not as though she had anyone to be pretty for. She didn’t know anyone really except Petyr. There weren’t any young men here to court her not that she would even want to now after all that had happened to her.

The smell was awful, but as her hair was cleaned and rinsed, Sansa saw her real hair for the first time in months. Looking in the mirror, she saw a girl that resembled Sansa but it wasn’t her. She couldn’t even imagine the young girl she was when she lived here. So naïve and no idea what her life was going to be.

Two Vale guards knocked on her door and her handmaiden answered. They were carrying a large trunk and set it before her. “Lord Baelish sent this to you m’lady.”

Sansa excused them to leave including her handmaiden.

When she opened it, she saw a dozen of the most beautifully crafted gowns, furs, and jewels. A small note lay on top in Petyr’s elegant handwriting.

_Such a great lady deserves the finest I can provide_

A second note had her in tears…

_I have brought your mother, father and brother home to you._

_They should be rightfully buried with their ancestors._

Sansa searched for Petyr everywhere and couldn’t find him. The crypts, courtyard, all the rooms, but he was nowhere to be found. One of the Vale captains said that the Lord Protector had left on horseback with a man heading south.

Sansa ran to the gates of Winterfell and her eyes searched along the countryside. It was dusk and the sun was low on the horizon making it harder to see.

_Nothing_

He left her. Petyr left her here alone and didn’t even say goodbye.


	8. Corrupt

Petyr could see Winterfell just beyond the crest of the hill. It had been just over a week since he left and there was a dusting of fresh snow foreshadowing the reality of winter.

When he came down to the great hall that afternoon, he met with whom he knew now as Theon Greyjoy. Ramsay Bolton had tortured him to an inch of his life; pet named him Reek and basically made him a terrified slave. Petyr didn't want to even imagine what was done to him all this time. He heard that this former ward of the Starks had murdered Sansa’s two younger brothers and Petyr had every intention of executing him that day. He didn’t need a Greyjoy anywhere near the last Stark.

As they spoke, Petyr found a kindness and pitied this young man. Whatever his betrayals, he had received far worse in punishment from Ramsay. Death would have been merciful, but Petyr had enough of death to last him a lifetime. And he was hardly anyone to judge betrayal.

He didn’t intend to leave so soon and without seeing Sansa but after speaking at length with Theon, Petyr needed out of Winterfell. Theon was present with Sansa and Ramsay that night and told him everything that happened in that room. Petyr was no stranger to lies and treachery but this was meant to hurt him in the worst possible way. But it wasn’t Theon that wounded him.

Theon didn’t hold back on the details. As horrific as it must have been for her, Ramsay didn’t physically harm or rape her as Petyr feared. He would have, of course, but thankfully Theon stabbed him in the back. Sansa finished the job, in a most gruesome fashion that he never thought her capable of. Petyr knew that she was lucky, that _he_ was lucky this time. It could have been much worse and he never would have forgiven himself. It tore him apart tending to her and watching her break before him. He would have spent the rest of his life making it up to her. Giving her anything she desired.

The words still echoed in his mind.

“Did he hurt you?”

“ _Yes”_

She wanted him to believe the worst and that it was his fault. She couldn’t possibly know how hard it was for him to let her leave his sight that night. He did tell her that it was probable that he wouldn’t be able to stop the bedding, did he not? Gods, the Starks never seemed to _listen_. He couldn’t do everything. That was the point in preparing her the night before. He couldn’t tell her before the wedding that he intended Ramsay to lead her away or she never would have done it. The moment they rode into Winterfell, there was no turning back. The Boltons would have had them both flayed alive. But she did choose to take back her home. Petyr gave her the choice before they arrived and he would have honoured it if she wanted to return to the Vale.

He tried to find the words so many times after he brought her back to his bedchamber, but he didn’t think she would believe him. He regretted not trying harder but that was in the past now.

Now, the woman he loved hated him, lied to him making him feel worse than he already did. He never would have told a lie like that to her. He usually told her the harsh truth whether she was ready to hear it or not, to open her eyes to the reality of this world. But with her, the words became more difficult as time passed, as his love for her grew. At the same time, his male pride was wounded and stubborn that this girl got the better of him. Had she been playing him the entire time, he wondered? Anger over-shadowed his reason and he couldn't stop it.

He needed to leave, he was afraid of what horrible things he might say to her. Theon provided the perfect opportunity. He knew that Theon most likely would not make it out of the Stark lands alive with most of the people knowing he killed the two young heirs. He would ride with him as far as the border and then Theon was on his own. Petyr owed him his life for saving hers.

That was his good deed and they were rare.

Petyr’s heart was hardened as he began to ride north. He taught her well indeed, his little mockingbird. She could hide behind Winterfell’s walls but not from him. She wanted to play this game and he couldn’t be more ready for it. Petyr wanted to see just how good a player Sansa believed she was.

She had no idea who she was up against. Petyr had a question to ask his little bird and oh, he couldn’t wait for the answer.

* * *

  
  


Sansa sat in her room in front of the fire. The day before she had buried her family in the crypts below Winterfell and how she wished Petyr was by her side. He always made her feel stronger, smarter… safer. Now, she was alone, truly alone for the first time in her life and she had no idea what to do next. Petyr had already set plans in motion for her and she didn’t doubt that they would come to fruition.

Each day she held a sliver of hope that he would return but as each day passed and that hope began to die. Petyr never left her without telling her where he was going and when he’d come back to her. To leave without so much as a by your leave hurt her.

Instead, he left her the most lavish of gifts, money to return her home to its former glory and provisions to hopefully make it through the winter. Perhaps that was his goodbye.

Sansa missed him, terribly so, his easy conversation, teachings, even his wretched scheming. Her family was gone and he was all she had left. She had no one to trust or talk to. Jon could be a welcome relief from this pain, she thought. He wouldn’t arrive for at least another fortnight or longer. But even seeing Jon again wouldn’t erase this ache in her heart. She didn’t really want Jon, she knew, she wanted Petyr. She wanted him to tell her what came next, tell her she was lovely… to tell her anything.

But he was gone and wasn’t coming back. It was dusk again, more than a week since his leaving and yet it felt like months already. Sansa never understood until now, how much she truly relied on him for everything.

A knock came to her door, “Yes”

“Lady Stark, I don’t wish to disturb you, but Lord Baelish as just returned.”

A cruel joke, she thought. She was sure they were whispering about her by now since she rarely left her chamber. Gods, she was turning into Aunt Lysa, Sansa shuddered. She stood and walked to the window overlooking the courtyard. It was true. There he was dismounting his horse. Part of her was glad he was back and yet a more dominant part was furious at him.

Sansa composed herself before leaving her bedchamber.

_Do not give him the satisfaction of showing you missed him_

She took a deep breath and walked down the corridor to the staircase. There she waited. She would make him come to her.

* * *

Petyr rounded the corner into the main foyer and stopped in his tracks. Sansa stood at the top of the stairs staring down at him. For a moment, her eyes beamed and then she quickly recovered hoping he didn’t notice.

Oh, he did. He noticed a small hitch in her breath and the way she slightly messed with her skirt giving her nervous hands something to do. Petyr smiled to himself, she would never last a moment playing cards with him. 

Petyr bowed formally and gave her one of his best smiles. “My lady, my apologies for my abrupt departure. Business required my personal attention.”

“And what business was that?” She tried to sound confident and nonchalant as he did.

“Your… _savior_ needed to be saved himself. I escorted him far enough to ensure what little protection I could give him. I felt we owed him that much.” Petyr didn’t blink and stared directly at her, challenging her.

“ _We?”_

“Yes… _you and I_ , unless there is another " _we_ " I’m unaware of. Ramsay _is_ still dead, is he not?” he said as if it were the most natural thing to say.

Oh, she didn’t like that, and it pleased him. He could still get her riled up. Bless her; she tried so hard to appear unaffected. She was a good liar by far, but not as good as him. He was going to enjoy this. She already hated him, so he risked nothing, except maybe his head but it would be worth it.

Petyr slowly climbed the stairs, his eyes never leaving hers. Her natural hair was auburn again and hung in loose waves. She was more beautiful than ever. She even wore one of the new dresses he had made especially for her. She was a vision, the sky blue playing up her Tully eyes.

“It’s good of you to try and protect _someone_ successfully at least,” she countered with precision.

Petyr almost howled with laughter but stifled it. She was quick; he’d give her that.

“Well, some require constant protection while others are more than capable of defending themselves, wouldn’t you say? Particularly, when they were _expressly_ told that they needed to do so? “ He picked up her hand in a courtly fashion and kissed it lightly.

He half expected her to slap him, but to her credit she was reserved and regarded him with a cool stare that didn’t blink, daring him to look away first.

“Luckily for me, I don’t require your protection. I can defend myself quite well, I think I proved that well enough.” Her façade was shredding and her anger was seeping through.

“Hmm, _yes_ , luckily Theon Greyjoy was there wasn’t it?” Petyr softly played with her hand, his eyes not leaving hers.

Sansa’s eye widened. He knew it the boy spoke the truth now.

“I _am_ grateful to the lad for stabbing the bastard, make no mistake, but it was a dreadful shame he couldn’t stop Ramsay from harming you prior to his demise. Strange that no marks were on you since as you said before, I’ve seen _all of you_ …” He drove his next words home as he tightened his grip on her hand. “And gods know how I died at the thought of you being hurt, my lady. The sleeplessness, the ache, the horror in imagining what he did to you haunts me still… that I may have never reached you in time…”

“If you seek absolution, _my Lord_ , you’ll not find it here. Perhaps you should not have forced me to marry that bastard in the first place.”

“Absolution would suggest that I made a mistake in attempting to return your birthright to you. I don’t remember forcing you to do a damn thing. You made that decision for yourself.” He retorted.

“For all you cared, he raped me and now I carry his child. All because of _you_.”

For a moment he almost doubted himself, but his pride got in the way. He tightened his mask and put on a smile

“Ah, well, don’t fret, sweetling. Maybe you’ll have an untimely fall to rid you of such a burden. A burden, mind you, that would have required immaculate conception.” Petyr sneered nastily.

“You would believe a _Greyjoy_. You, the master of all lies!” she spat losing her control.

“The advantage of being the master of lies is being able to tell when one is being lied to, my lady. I would expect you to know the difference, I thought I taught you that much. I thought I taught you better.”

“All you taught me was how to be your _whore_ ”. The venom dripped from her words.

If she were a man, he would have hit him. Did she really believe that’s what he been doing that night?

She must have been able to read him, “What? Are you going to strike me?” she challenged.

“I’ve never struck a woman in my life, I’m not about to start now.” He was appalled at her words but didn’t show it.

“How noble, I forgot you only whore them out and push them through Moon Doors.”

Petyr felt a crack in his mask and did everything to hold himself in check. He raised himself to his full height climbing the last step and came so close to her, he could breathe her in.

“Then you best be careful, _m’lady_ , for you know what I’m capable of,” he said next to her ear.

“You wouldn’t hurt me.” He could hear a slight falter in the forced confidence of her voice.

“You still think you know me, don’t you?” He smiled.

“Yes, I know you. Whoremonger, liar, swindler, thief, murderer…. all because you’re a pathetic, _small lord of NOTHING!_ My mother was…”

That was it! This game was over, he was actually afraid he might hurt her if she continued. Petyr grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down the hallway. He couldn’t stop the words that blasted from his mouth.

“Liar, murderer and whoremonger, am I? Then I’ll show you how a swindler and _whoremonger_ can deal!” If his intent was to frighten her, he succeeded as he practically tossed her into her bedchamber slamming the door and bolting it. He wanted no unwelcome visitors.

Petyr was rapidly losing himself and he began to pace the room. He couldn’t believe she was winning this battle. She stood there in the middle of the room gaining her strength in watching him break. Petyr strode across the room and pinned her against the wall.

“I – I’ll scream…” she dared him.

Petyr let out a mirthless laugh, “And then what? I own every single guard, soldier, and merchant down there, my dear. They’ll just think I’m ravishing you like the whore I taught you so well to be, _Lady of Winterfell_ or no. You think anyone gave a damn when Lysa screamed her fool head off all night at the Eyrie?”

“ _I hate you "_

“So you said before. I hated Lysa, yet fucked her senseless until she was moaning my name.”

“Then you killed her. Are you going to rape and kill me next?” she countered with her eyes blazing.

“Did I rape you the other night? I think not. I do remember you with my cock in your hand when I stopped you…. and your sweet pleading for me to take you. It was you that came to me that night...and I made you come on my hand. You wanted me then.” He seductively whispered against her neck. Gods, he wanted her right now.

“You deceived me.”

“You let yourself be deceived. You chose to go to the Vale, to cover up Lysa’s death, to take your home back, _my bed_ …You want to blame me for everything because it’s easy. You take no responsibilities for your choices and actions. If I had left you in Kings Landing, where do you think you would be right now? You would be Joffery’s plaything, the imp’s sad wife, or left forever alone in Highgarden as the Tyrells’ took everything your name holds…”

Petyr held her face in his hands, “Do you think you would have been any happier? Instead, you chose to take risks and become your own woman…. your own master, where no one can tell you what to do. Isn’t that freedom and taking vengeance on those that caused you pain worth the risk?”

He could see the wheels turning and he knew he was getting to her.

“I _am_ a thief, liar, whoremonger and murderer. I know what I am and what I want and what needs to be done to get it. That’s where we differ. And I think you wouldn’t want me any other way. Stop pretending you’re something you’re not before you know it, you’re caught up in your web of lies if you don’t have a plan. You can lie to them all you like, but not to me. _Never to me_. You are more like me than you wish to admit, sweetling.” Petyr kissed her and he felt her slightly yield. He smiled against her lips.

“I won’t marry again. _Never again_ , do you hear me?” she whispered harshly against his lips.

“Yes, you will,” he kissed her again, swallowing her protest, “You’ll marry _me_.”


	9. Wicked Game

_You’ll marry me_

It rang in her ears as he kissed her. Gods, she loved how he kissed. His lips were soft and she liked the feel of his skin without the beard. She couldn’t deny that she wanted him to kiss her even after everything she had been through. It was becoming harder and harder to resist him. He was right, she wanted him and she hated herself for it. She was winning this battle with him a moment ago, where did she go wrong? Her own pride came to the front and broke his kiss.

“But I don’t love you…” she protested weakly. It was a lie too; she knew she was falling for him. The truth, she was afraid to love him. The image of Lysa flying through the Moon Door was still ever-present in her mind.

Petyr started kissing under her ear and found a pulse point. “Does it matter?” He murmured lowly before suckling that point on her neck and she unconsciously tilted slightly to give him more access. “You still think marriage is for love?”

“You said I should be my own master… I don’t want to answer to any man now or ever.” Her words contradicted the feelings he was creating in her body. Her body needed him to own her.

“And you will be… except in my bed. I fully intend to be master there.” With that, Petyr’s arms encircled her, bringing her body flush to his. She was melting into him, all the desire she felt that night rushed back.

“We –we could be lovers…” she said as Petyr groaned into her neck. “And I could stay Lady Stark and keep Winterfell.”

“You’re really thinking this through, aren’t you?” His tone was serious but his eyes were filled with longing. “Would it be so terrible to be married to me?” A touch of hurt was in his voice even as he caressed her back tenderly. “I could give you everything, _anything_ you wanted. You would still be the Lady of Winterfell, and also, Harrenhal, the Riverlands, Trident and perhaps even the Vale. I’ll make you Queen of the North. I would even give you the Iron Throne if you desired it so. Tell me what you want sweetling and it’s yours.”

Petyr returned to kissing her neck and as one of his hands travelled down to her backside. “You think I can be bought, do you?”

He chuckled against her skin. “No, that isn’t challenging enough. Seducing you is far more enjoyable a task. Besides, I don’t want our _many children_ to be bastards… that’s how often I plan on making love to you. Not to mention, I’m quite the avaricious man. I will not share you with anyone, especially some handsome young knight that will come courting you.”

Petyr was jealous of potential suitors? There was a strange honesty in his lust she detected. Sansa thought going home would be enough to make her happy. It wasn’t. She would be alone. Perhaps she could wait and see if some young man courted her, but whom could she really trust now? She would have the power to choose her suitor. She had the power now to choose Petyr if she wanted. He was a very wealthy man and she’d want for nothing. He was much older, so she would possibly outlive him, or kill him if need be and she would have everything of his.

He was slowly gathering her skirts with one hand as his mouth lavished attention on her neck but she couldn’t relax her mind. She knew she could trust him, even after all that had happened. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her again. Sansa knew Petyr wanted her and only her now. He wouldn’t treat her like an invisible wife. She would be his equal. He could be a good husband to her. Did he really want children or would they only be the inevitable product of his seductive warning?

“You’re thinking too much…” Petyr had the folds of her skirt so high; he hitched her bare thigh to his hip and fiercely claimed her mouth when she gasped. He ground his hips into her pressing her harder against the wall. She kissed him back fully and he growled deep in his throat. Sansa wrapped one arm around his neck and the other slowly snaked down between them. She remembered that night how hard he was with wanting. There were so many layers of clothes between their bodies; she needed to know if he really did want her. She didn’t want to be another Lysa fooled into believing his lustful lies.

Her hand found its way inside his doublet and ran it along the front of his breeches. He was hard and heavy in her hand. Petyr groaned harshly into her mouth, “Gods Sansa, tell me you want this… that you want _me_.” His free hand found her shift that was soaking with lust. His fingers played her and she was whimpering incoherently. He moved the wet silks aside and fingers met soft flesh. He made her burn and that ache in her groin was building. She moaned loudly this time and lightly stroked him over his breeches.

“Say it…” he growled and stopped his attentions. Gods, she wanted him. She would let him fuck her right there against the wall just to feel that pleasure again. She tried to grind on his hand, anything to get that sensation back but he held her still, his eyes boring into hers.

“Petyr, _please_ …” she whimpered.

“Tell me…say it’s me you want.” he groaned with passion. She was lost in this man. Petyr was the last man she ever thought she would have such desire for and he was asking her to love him. She was on the precipice looking into the unknown. All she had to do was jump.

“ _Yes…_ ” she breathed and kissed him fully. “It’s you I want. _Only you_.”

She leapt from that cliff and he was there to catch her. Petyr lifted her off the ground and carried her to her bed. He turned her around and began unlacing the back of her dress with haste. Frustrated, he withdrew his dagger and Sansa had a moment of fear until she felt the dress pull away from the shredded laces. “You ruined it.” She grumbled.

“I’ll buy you a hundred more,” He goaded. Petyr eased the dress off her and it pooled to the floor. “Hold still,” he commanded. The laces of her corset were plucked one by one, so careful not to nick her skin. She felt the constricting garment fall away and the cool air seeping through the thin shift. Petyr was so close; she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. She turned to face him and his eyes were black pools of desire. She kissed him and began to make quick work of his doublet shrugging it off his shoulders. Thankfully, men had fewer laces on their clothing and soon his silk tunic was met his doublet on the floor.

Firelight danced upon his pale skin. The scar was more prominent and it stretched down just above his navel. Her fingers traversed the distance from his collarbone as he watched her intently. She held his gaze when they met his breeches. His breath hitched and she slowly unlaced them letting her hand slither inside to cup him. She was breaking him and it was glorious to watch.

His eyes flashed and he lifted her up into his arms, her legs wrapping around his slim waist and took several steps backwards to the bed and sat down with her straddling him. Sansa could feel his hardness through her damp shift. She ground down upon him not wanting to wait any longer and Petyr stilled her hips once again. “Patience, love, or it will be over before it begins, “ his voice strained to keep composure.

Petyr leaned forward and kissed her softly holding onto the small of her back. He leaned so far forward that Sansa though surely she would fall to the floor. His free hand was tugging at something and when she heard a thud, she realized he was removing his boots with difficulty. She wasn’t making it easier kissing along his jawline. After hearing the remaining boot being tossed across the room, Petyr pulled her back so that she was lying on top of him.

For several moments he could only stare at her. She felt naked even though she still wore her shift. “Merciful Gods, you’re beautiful.”

Sansa blushed bright red, she would never be used to his compliments. She knew now, she would never tire of hearing them. Sansa bent down and kissed him softly. His hands wound in her long hair pulling it away from their faces. She let her body rest fully on top of his, straddling him. She felt so wanton like this but having him beneath her gave her a sense of power. With her hips, she gently asked permission this time. Petyr sighed as his hands trailed down her back and rested on her lower spine letting her set the pace. He slowly gathered the thin shift, gently pulling it up her body. She broke her kiss and let him lift the burdensome material over her head and tossing to the growing pile of clothing on the floor.

The feel of his skin against hers was delicious and the contrast of his hard chest and stomach to her soft curves... breathtaking. She could feel his heavy breathing, the tickle of hair on his chest and that last piece of clothing separating them. She knew she was blushing again but now that she was fully naked, she didn’t know what to do. Gratefully, Petyr took over and kissed her, letting her relax back into his arms. He was gentle and caressed her back while she sighed into his kiss.

His hands travelled down her spine as they did before but this time they didn’t stop until reaching her bare backside. Petyr grasped her fully with both hands, his fingers dangerously close to her sex, thrusting her pelvis roughly against his as they both gasped at the sensation. He was teasing her mercilessly and she was sopping wet because of it. He sat up taking her with him and she felt him tugging at his breeches finally removing the last barrier. It was so ungraceful that Sansa couldn’t help but snigger as she helped pull the offending clothing off his legs.

“You think it’s humorous, do you?” his voice full of amusement.

Sansa tried not to smile but the mocking look on his face was too much. “I’ve just… never imagined you to be so… _uncoordinated,"_ she answered. The hilarity of the moment was enough to ease her into the fact that they were both completely naked now and he would soon take her maidenhead.

“ _Clumsy_ , am I? Oh, I think not, my little mockingbird…” he taunted. Sansa yelped when Petyr flipped her onto her back in one swift movement.

Oh, she could understand now why they talked some much about this. The sheer wickedness of it all was an understatement. Petyr was fully between her legs and she could feel his cock pressing against her curls. His naked body entwined with hers, heavy with need. His eyes were glazed and fixed on her. He dipped his head and kissed her, letting his tongue dance with hers. Every movement of his mouth mirrored that of his hips that rocked with hers, his hardness moving against a sensitive bundle of nerves above her womanhood. It was slow and his movements measured, then he would give a hard thrust that would make her moan into his mouth.

His hand pressed her thigh outward to give him more access. He played with her nub and dipped one finger in slightly testing her. She was wet but tight and the pressure of his finger made he wince. If that hurt, she didn’t know how he would fit. He was large in her hand and she understood why he denied her the other night. It was going to hurt.

Sansa opened her eyes and watched him gauge her response. To her surprise he brought his finger to his mouth and cleaned it from root to tip. His eyes told her he made a decision and he dipped his head to her breasts. Lazily he kissed her sensitive skin and without warning took a pert nipple into his mouth. His tongue circled it and his lips lightly suckled. A jolt shot straight to her groin where the rhythm of his hips never faltered. He lavished attention as her hands threaded through his hair. She was panting hard and wondered how much more she could take.

The thought no further left her mind as his head travelled down kissing to her navel. The look in his eyes was purely scandalous when he parted her thighs. She couldn’t breathe watching him. She had never heard about a man doing this. Petyr’s tongue lit fire along the inside of her thigh bringing it over his shoulder. He was getting closer to her apex and tasted the wetness there. His eyes darkened, never breaking contact with hers as he lowered his head and his mouth covered her sex. He buried his nose into her curls and tasted her fully.

Sansa’s head fell back onto the pillows, she didn’t think anything could feel better than his hand but his mouth, the wetness and feel of his tongue had her falling to pieces. Her breathing became quick and soon she was chasing something, oh gods, whatever it was she wanted to catch it. Her hips rose trying to create more friction, but Petyr draped both of her legs over his shoulders effectively wrapping his arms around and held her pelvis to his mouth. He wasn’t going to let her set this pace.

“Petyr… oh gods…” she said mostly to herself. It was music to his ears and he groaned deep into her sex making it even more pleasurable. Sansa didn’t know what to do with herself. Her hands grabbed the pillow behind her for something, anything to hold onto. Petyr suckled that bundle of nerves and inserted his finger. This time it didn’t hurt and after a moment he added another. His mouth was an evil thing as he moaned into her. She was coming undone and that familiar quake resonated deep begging to burst. She ran her fingers through his hair and couldn’t stop the tidal wave from hitting.

Before she even came down from her high, Petyr was above her and kissed her wickedly. His mouth tasted strange. He tasted of her, she realized. The idea was so far out of the realm of decorum, she wasn’t sure what to think. Is this what really happens in every marriage bed, she wondered. She couldn’t imagine some of those lords and ladies at court doing this.

Petyr kissed her roughly and brought himself between her thighs once more. His devilish hand was building her up again. She was sopping wet and she was more than ready for him. She could feel him nudging her open gently. Softly he rocked to get her used to him and without warning, he thrust up. Sansa winced at the pain. He was larger than she thought he would be. Every muscle tensed and held onto him.

“Breathe…” she heard him say. Sansa let go the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Petyr remained still inside her, letting her adjust to him. “The worst is done, sweetling. I’ll go slowly. The pain will fade, I promise.”

Petyr kept this promise. Gently he pulled out and then back in setting an easy rhythm. The pain subsided each time and finally it began feel pleasurable again. Petyr had complete control making sure he didn’t hurt her as much as possible. He was so focused on his task, that when she leaned up to kiss him, it took him by surprise. Her kiss was telling him she was all right now. The feel of him inside her was beyond what she expected. She kissed him roughly as he did before and her head fell back as he thrust hard all the way to the hilt. Just like the night before the wedding, that unstoppable hunger ate at them. There was no barring this kind of mad lust. He was right, making love was nice, but fucking was better.

His eyes were black and it was clear he wanted more but afraid of hurting her this first time. He eased his tempo but she was having none of it. She wanted to experience all of it….she wanted him to make her come undone like the last time. There would be time for gentleness later.

She thrust her hips up and that jolt of pleasure hit again. This is what she wanted. Petyr looked at her in fascination as she brought his head down for a searing kiss. Her hands found his backside and grabbed him. She moaned his name, begging him and he replied with a erotic kiss, roughly thrusting into her. Petyr grunted loudly and clutched her thighs wrapping them around his waist. She was wide open to him now as he fucked her hard without abandon.

It was raw, animalistic and best thing she ever felt. His breath was hers, his tempo rough and growing faster. Then she felt it again only this time she thought she’d burst in two. She heard herself call his name, begging him not to stop and he didn’t. The friction was too much and she was losing herself to him. She was going to come and come hard. She heard him break and his voice moaned louder with each deep thrust. Her body went rigid and she held onto to him as he continued thrusting and moaning his own release deep inside her.

Petyr collapsed upon her from the exertion and she welcomed his weight. They were both covered in sweat and the heavy scent of sex in the room was sweet. Petyr laid his head on her chest listening to her heart settle down. Their breathing slowed and Petyr raised his head to gaze at her in wonder. The mischievous smile he gave her lit up his eyes.

“Did I or did I not, tell you fucking was better?” He chuckled and gave her a passionate kiss. “Ah, my love, you’ll be the death of me. Be certain of that.” He was completely breathless.

He gently pulled out and a light pain followed. Petyr lay on his back and cradled her to him. She was cold and pulled the bedclothes up to cover them returning to his side to share his warmth. Petyr drew lazy patterns on her back and it was lulling her to sleep. She entwined her leg with his and snuggled further into his chest draping her arm about his waist. She heard and felt his contented sigh and smiled.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” A touch of worry rose in his voice.

“Just a little, but it’s fine now, I promise. You did say it would hurt the first time…”

“So I did,” he said, exhaustion taking over. After a time, low chuckle reverberated in his chest.

“What could possibly be so funny?” she whispered in annoyance.

Petyr debated on answering until she lightly slapped his side. “I didn’t realize you would miss me so much after only a week. Gods forbid I’m gone longer than a fortnight, for I’ll surely die in your bed the following night.” He loved teasing her. Sansa took the opportunity playfully slap his chest in his fatigued state. Petyr grunted and grabbed her hand bringing it to his lips.

“You need to stop hitting me, I have enough scars.” She could feel him smile against her fingers.

“Then stop baiting me.” Sansa laced her fingers with his.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he softly laughed. “I will make a note of baiting my lady wife often if this is my reward.”

_Lady wife_

“Petyr?”

“Hmph?” he replied as he tightened his arm around her. She could tell he was falling asleep.

“Yes…” she murmured softly.

“Yes, what?” he drawled dreamily, holding her closely.

Sansa stalled for a moment and then let the words fall where they may.

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

She felt the soft laughter in his chest as he kissed her forehead

" _I didn't ask_ "


	10. This Alone is Love

  
  


Sansa turned her head up to look at him with confusion. Petyr smiled, he loved teasing her.

“I said, _you will marry me_. I’m not leaving it up for discussion. I don’t seem to remember you telling me no. I’d rather hear you scream my name to be quite honest.”

She blushed bright red and it couldn’t have been more endearing to him. Even though she surprised him at her passion and willingness to let him ravish her, she was still young and inexperienced. He was in awe that he was the first to have her, and he would make damn sure he’d be the last.

“Do you want me to ask you properly?” Sansa shook her head and held onto him.

“Good. I’m afraid it won’t look so romantic being stark naked on freezing stone and I’d rather stay in bed with you.”

Petyr would have done it if she wanted, but he knew her well enough. She knew him well enough. He wasn’t that kind of man. If he was absolutely honest with himself, he didn’t want to hear her rejection.

Sansa was playing with the hair on his chest and he never thought such a sensation would feel so wonderful. Here, he had this beautiful woman that he adored in his bed next him after brilliant lovemaking. He had every intention of being gentle with her. He would be slow and easy, even if it killed him, to assure he caused her as little pain as possible. But the way she responded and begged for more was his undoing. He had never lost himself in a woman like that before. It was pure bliss, and it scared him.

Her hand had made its way down his body and was dangerously close to stroking him. Petyr closed his eyes, “It’s lovely what you’re doing, but it will be a few minutes before I can accommodate you. I’m not as young as I used to be,” he teased but there was more truth to it than he cared to admit.

Sansa scoffed, “You’re not _that_ old,” and ran her fingers across him causing him to stir.

Petyr softly grunted, “Old enough to feel the difference.” She wrapped her hand around him and he knew he was going to lose this battle.

“Do you want me to stop?” she whispered shyly, all the while her soft hand began to lightly stroke him.

_Yes? No… Oh seven hells._

Petyr was exhausted, not just from fucking her but he had been riding all day. His body betrayed him and he couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped his lips. When he opened his eyes, Sansa was watching him in fascination. She was learning that she could have real power over men… _over him_. He would deal with that later. Right now, he was aroused and needed to have her again.

He craned his neck up and kissed her pulling her down to him. Her mouth was sweet as his tongue danced with hers. She wasn’t afraid of him for some reason. He expected her to be shy and most likely a bit frightened by something so new, but instead, she was apt to learn. And more importantly, she was enjoying it, enjoying _him_. He gently rolled her over onto her back and settled himself between her legs. Petyr brushed her hair back from her face and gazed at her. He had never seen anything so lovely in all his years.

He sought her lips and kissed her with reverence. He savoured every tender sensation, her light gasp as he rocked his hips forward, her hands caressing his back… he wanted to remember everything.

Petyr hooked his arm under her leg bringing it high up, opening her to him. He trailed kisses down her neck and suckled a throbbing pulse near her collarbone. She was moaning now and he could feel how wet she was as he teased her with his hips. He nudged her open and barely entered her. She would still be sore, he guessed. He started very slow and deliberate just easing in a few inches and retracting. Keeping a soft pace and waiting for her to guide him as he gently teased her.

He could feel her hands travel to his back urging him to go deeper. This time he wanted to watch her fall apart under him. He wrapped her other leg around his waist and pushed himself up onto his arms as he thrust all the way to the hilt making her moan his name. Gods, she was going to kill him.

She was panting, her breaths heavy as he slowly made love to her. Petyr was in no rush and enjoyed watching the pleasure he was giving her. Softly stroking and then a sharp thrust and she would groan loudly. It was music to his ears. A sweet song he would never tire of.

Petyr leaned down and kissed around her ear, “Tell me what you want, sweetling.”

He tormented her with his measured speed. He knew what he was doing. He was going to make her break beneath him.

“You… I want you,” she whimpered.

“No, no, no… We already played that game. Tell me what you _want_.” His voice was plump with seduction as he gave another deep and sharp thrust. She moaned hard and Petyr smiled against her skin. “ _Oh yes_ , that’s the song I wish to hear, my little mockingbird.”

He slowed down to a torturous speed and he could feel her frustration. He knew what she wanted, but she was going to have to tell him. “Do you like this?” She sighed and still tried to urge him on.

“Or is this what you seek?”

He thrust deep and hard, increasing their tempo. She cried out in pleasure and it was the most erotic sound. Ah, she liked it rougher, did she? He was pleasantly surprised and gave in to her. He wasn’t going to last long anyhow from exhaustion and the way she was clenching him.

Petyr reared up and fucked her harder. Her eyes were closed and she moaned so loudly, that surely they would hear her outside. His male pride grinned from ear to ear and it pushed him on. She latched onto his back and her hips rose to meet his, chasing that tantalizing need and he could no longer hold back.

“Open your eyes…. _Look at me_ …” he commanded. He could feel it he was almost there. He could feel her tightening around him and she watched him with wide eyes. Her body was going rigid as she held on but she didn’t make a sound save her heavy breathing. She felt so good as she came around him. He thrust like a madman moaning her name until releasing himself inside her.

She was shaking like a leaf and when he looked down at her, tears were welling up in her eyes. Oh Gods, he hurt her. _Damnit!_ He cursed himself.

“ _Sweetling_ … I’m sorry.” Before he could move, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him in ardour. She was as breathless as he when she looked into his eyes. There was more than passion in mirroring in her eyes… there was… no, it couldn’t be. She did not love him.

It was just lust, he convinced himself. Probably, just relieved her first man was a decent lover. He pitied women, including his whores that had to bed some truly foul men and make them believe they enjoyed it. Or being stuck with a boy that didn’t know what to do, let alone actually please a girl.

Petyr gently withdrew with a tender kiss and lay on his side facing her. For some reason, she couldn’t look at him and suddenly turned on her side with her back to him pulling up the sheet to cover herself. Now she was shy?

Or worse, “I did hurt you, didn’t I?” he apologized. She shook her head but kept quiet. Petyr slid close and pulled her body against him. He breathed into her hair and enclosed his arm around her. “What is it, my love? You can tell me,” he breathed.

She was silent for such a long time; he didn’t think she was going to answer him at all. “Does it always feel like that?” she asked timidly.

“Only when it’s good,” he teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Clearly that was the wrong answer as she huffed into her pillow. He moulded himself into her and he could feel her tense up. “Truthfully?” he paused. “ _No_. It’s very rarely like this.” Petyr sighed deep into her neck. “This? _Oh, Sansa_ … I don’t know what this is. This is as new to me as it is to you.”

"Sex is sex. You're lucky if you have someone you love, but mostly it's about power and control," he continued. “Honestly, a man can find pleasure in almost any woman. We can detach all emotion from it. Women, really get the short end of the stick. Forced to marry men you don’t love or even less attracted to… all for survival. Men end up in bad marriages too, but it’s far worse for women. I know that sounds hypocritical coming from a _whoremonger_ , but I’m not stupid…”

“What about Aunt Lysa? She seemed to love you very much.” Sansa was becoming bolder every day, he thought.

“Lysa was in love with a naïve boy that never wanted her,” he offered.

“Like my mother never wanted you?” He was surprised he wasn’t angry at this statement. It was the truth.

“Neither Lysa nor your mother were so innocent back then. I fell in love with a girl that was only flirting with me and nothing more. My heart clouded all the reason for it.” Petyr debated for a moment, “I was very drunk one night, and I thought it was your mother that came to my bed. Only later, did I find out it was Lysa. She took advantage of me in a weakened state. I ended up hating her for it. I still loved your mother blindly and hoped that perhaps one day… but that day never came. I thought I was fighting for love when I duelled Brandon.” Petyr smiled wistfully, “Sometimes you just need to grow up.”

“You still married and bedded Lysa. It was obvious, as you said, that she was very _pleased_ with you,” she whispered.

Was Sansa jealous? He tucked that bit of information away. “It was nothing more than a political marriage, you know that. As far as the bedding went? Well, let’s say I did my duty to keep her satisfied and not kill you. She was jealous of you before I brought you to the Vale. She never wanted me to save you.” Petyr turned her chin, forcing her to look at him, “Everything about Lysa disgusted me. Do you know what got me through that night? Fantasizing about _you_ ,” he told her straightforwardly.

“Or my mother… it’s really her you wanted, isn’t it?” He could tell she was trying not to show any emotion, but he could see right through her façade.

“I did love her once. I know it’s hard to believe, but I know she never loved me. I accepted that years ago…”

“If she would have come to you after my father died, would you have married her then?” She interrupted.

That’s what this was about. She wanted to know if he loved her or her mother. Even worse, she thought she was a poor substitute for her mother and that’s why he was with her now. There was no point in lying to her.

“Honestly?” and he never broke her gaze, “I don’t know what I would have chosen then. Quite possibly, yes. But we would never have been happy together, Sansa. Cat… she loved your father very much. I know that now.” Petyr needed to make her understand, “I told you the truth at the Eyrie. Not only are you more beautiful than your mother, but also you’re more than she ever could have been. You are stronger, wiser and frankly more intelligent… “

Petyr sighed, how could he tell her loved her after all this time? She was changing everything for him. It scared him senseless. He never intended to have these feelings and now he had to re-think his long laid plans. He was risking her life and he cared now. He cared too much. So either he made changes for the two of them or he needed to let her go. This was a decision she was going to have to make on her own. Marrying her was originally only for his plans, but now she would be a liability. She would be a way for others to bring him down. Ultimately, she would have to choose. Be his wife and every dangerous risk that came with it or he could leave her here. Gods, he only made it worse by bedding her. She could be with his child and even more vulnerable. What a mess he had made of things.

“Do you know what I want?” He finally breathed in defeat.

“Everything,” she recited numbly.

“Yes… “ Petyr whispered in earnest. “…and you are _everything to me_.”

* * *

  
  


Sansa could feel the morning, the soft light filtering the room and the low crackle of the embers from the fire. She was enveloped in Petyr’s arms and his breath warmed the back of her neck. There was no need to leave or worry about anyone discovering them this time.

The biting chill made Sansa snuggle deeper under the covers. Unconsciously, Petyr held her closer and nuzzled his nose in her hair. She didn’t know how to process everything that had happened last night. Petyr returned, they argued and then made love, no, _fucked_ like practised lovers. Sansa felt ashamed of how wanton he could make her feel. She couldn’t lie to herself; she enjoyed it, every bit of it. But Sansa wondered if he really cared or was it all seduction. The keeper of brothels would certainly know how to seduce and give pleasure.

Petyr told her she would marry him next. He called her his ladywife, his love, his everything. Sansa wanted so much to believe him, but a nagging voice told her to be careful. Once again, the reality was harsh. He didn’t get on his knee and profess his undying love… he didn’t even ask at all. He just told her what would be. She should be angry, but this was Petyr. He wasn’t going to insult her intelligence with buffoonery. She no longer believed in gallant knights, saving the damsel in distress and living happily ever after. The reality was uglier and frankly better than living in a dream world. He wasn’t going to pretend as he did with Lysa to placate her.

If he truly wanted her, she would demand she be an equal party to his plans. Sansa would not be a pretty, silent wife that stood in the shadows as the men ruled. She knew, at least, that Petyr desired her. She wasn't naïve though to believe that’s all he wanted, but she could use that desire to keep him on her side. Better to be the devils right hand than in his path.

Sansa admitted she really didn’t know what to do without him. She wasn’t prepared to be the lady of a great house on her own. She certainly wasn’t prepared to deal with Stannis. Petyr was right; Winterfell would be a good bargaining chip. Pledge Stannis fealty and the added fact that her father supported his claim, she was confident he would let her be. Sansa believed Petyr could broker almost any deal as savvy as he was. With the Vale, Harrenhal and potentially all of the Riverlands in Petyr’s pocket, they could be very valuable to this future king.

_They… we… you and I… my lady wife_

Petyr’s hand was resting against her stomach and one fact became apparent. She was no longer a maid but a woman now. Again, Petyr’s logic rang in her mind. Right now, Joffery, Tyrion, could have bedded her. She couldn’t imagine how that might have been to lose her virginity to them. Sansa knew it would not have been like it was with Petyr. He was gentle at first but he was a good lover and the pleasure was better than she could have imagined it would be. There was some lingering soreness but she didn’t mind it.

If Petyr only wanted her body and name, she could make him believe she was fine with it. It could be worse, she reasoned. Petyr wasn’t unattractive and he was a good lover, and she felt he would not harm or let harm come to her. He taught her how to survive and didn't patronize her. If he could be Petyr with her private and Littlefinger to the world, she could live with it. Sansa knew her chances were better with him at her side. She could manipulate him just as much as he manipulated her.

Perhaps he truly cared for her, even love, but she still had to be wary. Her mother and father loved, Lysa loved, Robb loved… and look where it got them. Dead. If she loved Petyr, where would it take her? Love and emotions clouded logic he said. Did he fully plan to bed then wed her too? Was she a part of his grand plan? If she let herself love him, she wouldn’t see the dagger at her throat.

Sansa needed to think and defend herself. Petyr wouldn’t always be there to save her. She knew he was teaching her to be self-sufficient like him. Maybe he wanted to take care of her but knew his limitations or maybe he was just as afraid as she was. She never knew Petyr to be scared of anything. He was always in control of everything and everyone. She often heard that men were their most vulnerable when in the throes of sex. Men told women they loved them so they could bed them. Her father always pointed out not to believe men's declarations of love so easily. To never give in to them until marriage. Her virginity was a prize not to be given freely. She gave it to Petyr without question. No romantic declarations of love before or after. Petyr never said once, I love you. Yet everything else seems to say he did. She was becoming like him. Emotions were a weakness they couldn't afford and love was far too dangerous.

_I don’t know what this is. This is as new to me as it is to you._

Sansa made her decision. She would marry him. He would not force her, she knew. There were worse men than Petyr. She understood him sufficiently to have a shred of trust in him. As enraged as he was, he didn’t hit or hurt her. She pushed him hard and actually expected him to crack. Instead, his fury turned to passion. After last night, he could have just taken her and his own pleasure, but he enjoyed pleasing her. He was holding her now in sleep not willing to let her go. Maybe that was enough, all that she could hope for in this ugly world.

Soon Stannis would arrive in Winterfell and a new game would begin.

For now, she would play Petyr’s game. Sansa would let him believe anything he wanted. She would love him and make him hers. If the time came to go it alone, she would take everything he had.


	11. Here Comes the King

Almost a fortnight had passed and Sansa and Petyr continued on with readying Winterfell for the winter and Stannis’ arrival. Petyr made a good lord, Sansa was discovering. Like in the Vale, he was rebuilding, setting people to work and gathering the old Stark bannermen back together. Petyr was a natural leader and knew how to run a great house. She admired the way he took control of every situation and wished to be more like him. She wanted very much now to be a strong Lady of Winterfell. She was not a leader or a fighter, and frankly wanted nothing to do with the coming war. If she could live in Winterfell in peace, she would. Somehow, that didn’t seem likely.

Petyr included her in his plans, so she believed, and resumed her education. At times it felt as though they never left the Vale. They supped together, supervised the needs of the house and lands and after spending evenings in his new solar, he would sometimes come to her bed but only to sleep. Petyr would hold her through the night but he didn’t attempt to make love to her again since that first time. Sansa was confused by his actions or lack thereof. She expected intimacy with him now that they were betrothed, there was nothing beyond a chaste kiss and sharing a bed occasionally. She didn't think it would be a bother that he was not trying to bed her again. After a few days, she started to realized she did want him. She liked that pleasure he gave. She felt like quite the harlot when she tried to coax him once. He would gently discourage her and instead wrap her in his arms. It was something that was unspoken between them like so many things from that night. He didn’t mention marriage again and it made her wonder if he changed his mind. Perhaps her father was right to tell her not to give in to a man. She had listened to Petyr’s sweet seductive voice, tender declarations and _offer_ of marriage. She let him bed her and still had nothing to show for it.

For all intents and purposes, they acted like the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, man and wife. Petyr proceeded with authority but also kindness and the people didn’t question him unlike the Lords of the Vale. If he was good enough for the new Lady Stark? … and with this new lord came money, food and provisions that were desperately needed.

This night after retiring from his solar, Petyr slept in his own chambers. Sansa sat in front of her dressing table and looked at this new woman in the mirror. She was older, much older than her years. There was no trace of the young girl she once was. She looked and felt like a woman. Every day she was gaining knowledge and confidence.

Sansa glanced at her empty, cold bed and sighed. She wished Petyr chose to stay with her every night. She noticed she slept better when he was there. Sansa was afraid to admit she liked having him there. Independently it seemed, they had come to the same conclusion that it was best not to get too invested in each other. Or the other, Petyr didn’t want her anymore. He would only kiss her on the cheek now. Even though he was kind, he was Littlefinger in private now too. If that night had never happened, she wouldn’t have thought much on it, but everything between them had changed too much to go backwards.

She gathered her dressing gown and made her way to Petyr’s room. He was sound asleep on his side wearing a simple silk tunic. His room was warmer than hers. He had spent too many years in Kings Landing was still wasn’t used to the cold. Sansa padded softly to the bed and pulled back the covers slipping inside. His back was to her and even though she wanted him to make love to her again, she didn’t have the heart to wake him. Instead, she slid closer and moulded herself against him. She inhaled deeply and the scent of spice and mint filled her senses. She loved the way he smelled.

_Loved_

Who was she kidding; she was falling in love and couldn’t stop it. Sansa nuzzled the back of his neck like he always did to her and held him close. Tonight she would sleep well at least. She dozed off and didn’t notice that Petyr was wide-awake.

The next morning, Petyr was waking her. “Good morning, sweetling.” He smiled and it didn’t reach his eyes. “You best get up. I need to dress.” Petyr rolled out of bed and walked to his wardrobe.

“You act as if I’ve never seen you naked before.”

“By all means, stay, if it gives you that much enjoyment to see my backside,” he teased.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you wanted me to go. You were never so quick to leave _my_ bed in the morning.”

“ _If I didn’t know any better_ , I’d say you’re acting childish. Come, there’s much to do today.”

He was scolding her like a child?

With that Sansa, was up and left the room slamming his door on the way out. She broke her fast alone and was grateful. She didn’t want to see Petyr, let alone speak with him. Damn, that man!

She needed to get away for just a little while. Without saying a word, she walked into the woods. The Godswood was nearby and it was a place she could always feel safe when she wanted to be alone. It was her sanctuary, an escape from her taunting siblings when she was younger.

The snow crunched beneath her feet as her skirts created a swirling pattern as she walked. The meadow was encrusted in fresh snow and it was so beautiful. The creek cut its path and the soft sounds of water rolling over stones was the serenity she needed. She didn’t know how long she been there, by the time she returned and entered the courtyard, all the tranquillity she regained was lost in an instant. Petyr stormed over to her in long strides and in full temper.

“Where in the hell have you been?”

“I needed some privacy. It’s my land, I can go where I please,” she answered calmly.

“Without telling anyone? You could have been hurt, kidnapped, raped…”

“I _won’t_ be a prisoner in my own home! I don’t have to answer to anyone. I am the master here, not you.” Sansa tried to move past him, but he blocked her path.

“Come with me, I want to speak with you _in private_ ,” he spoke softly. His eyes looked about and she could tell people were watching them intently.

“When I’m ready to speak with you, my lord, I’ll summon you.”

Petyr pulled her so close that she could feel his breath on her ear. “Come with me now, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder in front of everyone kicking and screaming. Don’t think I won’t do it,” he challenged hotly.

Sansa looked him in the eyes and he was deadly serious. She half wanted to see if he would but not in front of her people. Lady of Winterfell or not, being disciplined like an ill-behaved child and hauled inside like a sack of potatoes was never a good impression for a lady to make.

They made their way to his solar and Petyr shut the door behind them. “What’s gotten into you today? You’re acting as old as Robert.” When she ignored him, he didn’t let up. “ _Well?_ ”

What was she supposed to tell him? She wanted him desperately and he was refusing her? She decided to take an easier route.

“When will we be wed? I’m sure my people are already whispering about us.” Sansa tried to stay calm and collected.

“Not any time soon.”

“Oh, I see. You didn’t really want to marry me, just to fuck me, is that it?” she dared him.

“My love, if that’s all I wanted from you, believe me, I would taken you long ago.” He smirked. “Please tell me we’re not playing this game again. I’m weary from arguing.”

“But you sleep in my bed and act as though everything is fine. You don’t touch or kiss me anymore and when I come to your bed, you practically kicked me out.” She sat down in his chair. “I don’t understand you.”

Petyr knelt before her and kissed her forehead. “We shouldn’t be sharing a bed, I know that now.”

Sansa could not stop the hurt she felt. “You don’t want me anymore, is that it?” she said dully. It was easier to say the words than hear them from his voice.

“No, I _do_ want you. There lies my predicament. We need to be careful, Sansa. I’m too reckless when it comes to you and if we’re going to beat this thing, I need to think clearly. I can’t get you with child.” He smiled sadly and then a hint of mischief lit his eyes, “ _Not yet anyhow_.”

Sansa conceded she wasn’t ready for children and now wouldn’t be the best time considering the circumstances. He was being logical and she was being wanton. How easy it was for men. They could act on their desires with no care in the world.

“I’m flattered that you yearn for me so, sweetling.” Petyr laid his head down in her lap.

“You flatter yourself plenty.”

He chuckled deep into her skirts. “There are… other ways of pleasuring you of course. You need only ask. But you’ll need to be quieter lest we let everyone know what goes on our rooms.”

 _He would make me ask… beg for him. This rake!_ Ooh, he infuriated her. Sansa pushed him away. “You’re a cad… “

“I’ve been called worse… _by you_ , for that matter,” He smiled devilishly and she hated it. Petyr rose to his feet and gave her a quick kiss on the mouth. He turned to his desk and poured two glasses of wine, handing one to her.

“As much as I’d love to bury my head under your skirts…” Sansa blushed six shades of red, “We need to talk about Stannis.”

Sansa groaned and it wasn’t about pleasure. “I’ve been mulling it over. I cannot wed you until he leaves Winterfell… well, better yet, the North as a whole. I hold too much land and title as it is. The Lannisters gave me Harrenhal, I control the Vale and Robert and if I marry you, I will have Winterfell. Do you follow?” Petyr took a long drink from his glass.“We will be too powerful. _I_ will be seen as too powerful. You never let your opponents see the cards in your hand, Sansa.”

“But Stannis… he will want our allegiance and what we hold. It will benefit him in the war to take the throne. Why does it matter?”

“It matters because if we are married, we essentially control the entire North. Wouldn’t you see that as a threat? If you have Winterfell independently, and I, Harrenhal… it’s easier to offer our fealty of our houses directly. Robert is still the Lord of the Vale. I may be regent for now and have complete control, but it is still Robert’s to inherit when he comes of age.”

“If he ever comes of age…” she quipped.

Petyr howled in laughter and finished his wine in one gulp. “Once Stannis gets his bannermen and moves south, we can wed. We will have to do so in secret. The North will be ours and Stannis can have that hideous throne. That is until the Targaryen girl comes across the Narrow Sea. While they battle it out and her dragons burn Kings Landing to the ground, we will be sitting in the North with all the power we need. The North will not want another Targaryen on the throne. If Westeros brought down those damned dragons once, they can do it again. So even if I’m killed, you will have everything in the North, sweetling. You could marry Robert if need be and take the Vale too. A true Queen of the North.”

“You plan on dying then?” She tried to sound flippant, but she was worried. She didn’t want him to die.

“Not if I can help it. The closer to the end, the riskier the game is. It’s possible someone will start to figure out what is happening up here. But if we play our cards right, we can choose who sits on that throne, or destroy it once and for all.”

Sansa imagined what the next few months, even what the next couple of years would bring. This _was_ a dangerous game to play. If she was going to survive it, she better start listening and learning from Petyr. He has been playing it for years. She could tell he had long laid plans set to go in any direction if need be.

She needed to be seen as a strong and independent lady of a great house. She needed to stop acting like a jealous love-struck girl. Petyr was protecting her. Now it was time to play the game and move the next piece… and that piece was Stannis Baratheon.

* * *

Another fortnight had passed in the cold North. Stannis was much delayed due to skirmishes on the way from The Wall. Some of the wildings were savage cannibals terrorizing homesteads across the North. It was said, that some of Stannis Baratheon’s new army consisted of other wildings. Petyr told her that Stannis had executed a wilding king at Castle Black by burning him alive. Sansa understood why Petyr was so cautious. Stannis demanded complete loyalty and didn’t want anyone that could be a threat.

Once again, Sansa would play submissive and not give this would be king any reason to harm her or Winterfell. She had a responsibility now to her people no matter who sat on the Iron Throne. Sadly, she heard nothing more from Jon. She assumed that he would be riding with Stannis, but until they arrived today, she wouldn’t know for sure.

Sansa could barely remember what he looked like before he left for The Wall. Would he recognize her? She had changed much these past few years. She wondered if he would be like a father and question the direction she was taking. He knew nothing of Petyr Baelish, Littlefinger, the Master of Coin so perhaps she wouldn't have to try hard to convince him why she would be involved with such a man.

It had been well over a month since the Boltons were executed and their people ousted from Winterfell. Petyr made good his word, and this once great house was coming alive again. If everything went well with Stannis, she felt secure enough that Winterfell could survive the winter. With Petyr as her ally and future husband, she knew he would help her take care of her home. The harvests were bountiful from the Vale and Riverlands. If worse came to worse, she could move her people to safety to the mountains of the Vale. The North would take care of its own.

Stannis, his family and massing army would arrive sometime this afternoon. Sansa was so nervous with worry and fear she made herself sick before even breaking her fast. She was glad it happened privately in her bedchamber. She didn’t want Petyr to see her fear had gotten the better of her. She knew if she only got through this day, she would be all right. If she could deal with the likes of Ramsay Bolton, she could charm this king.

However, if Petyr weren’t here, she wouldn’t know what to do. He instructed her in what to say and when to stay silent. Stannis was a proud man and Petyr said to use that to their advantage. Submit, bow, and grovel before him. Make him feel like a king. Condemn the Lannisters and all that tried to deny him his right to the throne. Granted, it was his inherited right by law and all they had to do was confirm their support of the true king.

Sansa finally came downstairs to break her fast to find Petyr patiently waiting. “I was worried that everything would be cold by the time you finally decided to come down.” It was only light banter, she knew, but she was in no mood for his little games this morning. Petyr watched her gingerly take a seat and a flash of concern washed over his face, “You’re very pale. You’re not ill are you?”

Damnit, she couldn’t hide anything from him if she tried. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m nervous.” It wasn’t a lie, just a half-truth.

Petyr came to her and kissed her forehead. “Everything will be fine. Just follow my lead. Stannis won’t be expecting anything more than Cat and Ned’s dutiful daughter. A loyal daughter and heir that will support him with grace and hospitality in her reclaimed home. Be confident but not overly willful and opinionated. He will undoubtedly be curious about how we brought down the Boltons. Leave that to me. I don’t want you to appear as anything other than a proper lady.”

Sansa snorted, “Because _proper ladies_ don’t savagely murder their husbands on their wedding night, even if they are Boltons.”

“Precisely. I don’t want him to think you’re capable of such things. To take on the Boltons, he knows you’re strong but having loyal men dispatch them keeps you from looking more threatening.” Petyr moved his plate and goblet to the empty seat next to her. “Besides, it will most likely be me he will question.”

“Why you?” She stood and walked to the sideboard. Her tummy was still turning and decided on simple porridge and some fruit.

“Come now, don’t be obtuse.” Sansa gave him a glare and returned to her seat. “I’m the former Master of Coin, appointed by Jon Arryn of course, keeper of profitable brothels, new Lord of Harrenhal and Protector of the Vale. No offence, my dear, but men do like to deal with men. He will be mistrustful of me for certain. I’ll need to explain why I turned on the Lannisters, and so forth. I think my answers will prevail.” Petyr laughed mostly to himself, “If he were a smart man, he’d kill us on the spot. Especially me. Ah, but like all the others, he is blind.”

Sansa wasn’t sure what he meant by all that. She didn’t ask for fear of knowing. She ate little of her porridge while listening to Petyr lay out the details. She pushed the cold food away with shaking hands. She wasn’t ready for this. Why was she so scared all of a sudden? Stannis should have arrived a fortnight ago, so they had extra time to plan and still she was sick with nerves.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Petyr. “You look terrible, sweetling. Let’s see what we can do.”

He grabbed her hand and led her back to her bedchamber. Petyr sat her down in front of her dressing table and stood behind her, their eyes locked in the mirror. Fear and concern reflected in the glass as he gathered her hair and moved it to the side. Petyr placed his hands between her neck and shoulders and began to knead the tired muscle. It hurt at first and then suddenly she relaxed into his massaging hands. He moved along her neck and the back of her hand as a slight moan escaped. He was melting away her tension and anxiety. Sansa made a note to have him do this again.

“I’m sorry sweetling. You’ve been working so very hard. I know you think I don’t notice but I do,” Petyr smiled sweetly. It wasn’t Littlefinger she saw in the mirror; it was all Petyr right now. He was pulling her hair from its pins. “It’s too harsh, too matronly. We’ll have your handmaiden make it look softer. More… innocent. It’s better if they underestimate you from the first moment.”

Sansa glanced at herself again in the mirror. The loose hair did make her look younger. The lavender gown, one of Petyr’s many gifts, offset her auburn curls and porcelain complexion and her blue… oh, she had the darkest circles under her eyes. There was no hiding them. Her blue eyes made them look worse for wear, telling the truth of her weariness.

She looked at Petyr with dread and he understood. He guided Sansa to her bed, laying her down. “You need to close your eyes and rest for a spell. I have scouts on the ridge and they’ll report in before Stannis arrives and I’ll come and wake you.”

Sansa numbly nodded her head and expected to hear her door close. She heard a bit of rustling and before she could open her eyes, a very cold cloth was laid over them. It felt like fresh snow! He had taken snow from her window and wrapped it in cloth to soothe her tired eyes. It felt better than she expected and relaxed back into her bed.

“Rest, my love,” Petyr leaned over and gave her a long, sweet kiss. It had been so long since he really kissed her. “I’ll come for you soon.” He covered her with a soft blanket and left the room gently shutting the door behind him.

It didn’t take long and she was fast asleep.

The next thing she felt was Petyr jostling her to wake. He had removed the cold compress than had melted long before. She must have slept for hours. Judging by the brightness in the room, it must be midday at least.

“How do you feel?” Petyr caressed her face with a look of such tenderness.

“Better.”

“Good, you look it. Stannis should be here within the hour. Your handmaiden waits in the hallway.” He ran his finger across her lips, “Don’t worry. You trust me, don’t you?”

  
Sansa smiled and nodded. With that, Petyr kissed her. “I’ll wait for you downstairs. Don’t take too long this time.”

Petyr walked to the door opening it to allow her handmaiden to enter. “Please have my lady ready quickly,” closing the door behind him.

Sansa left her bedchamber more refreshed than when she woke this morning. She could hear the horses in the distance and quickly made her way down the stairs. Petyr was handsomely dressed and looked every bit the high lord he had become. He took her hand and escorted her to the courtyard to greet their guests.

All the servants and small folk were in attendance to meet their new and rightful king as Stannis rode in on his black stallion, his lords, guards and family following. He dismounted and he was still a towering man. His face stern and his eyes full of pride and confidence just as Petyr said. His hair was grey but he still had the air of a man in his prime. He looked every bit a Baratheon and a warrior king just as she imagined his late brother must have been once.

Stannis made his way to her and Sansa gave a deep curtsy, bowing her head. Just as she did, Petyr and the entire courtyard bowed in unison.

“Your Grace, you honour my house with your presence.” Sansa stood up and met Stannis with a lovely girl’s smile. “My father, I know, would be pleased that his death was not in vain. For not only he supported your rightful claim to the throne, but now the entire North will stand behind you. Winterfell and everything I have to give is yours.” She paused and raised her head, “All hail, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms!

Stannis looked pleased as she, Petyr and all her bannermen cheered together.

“Lady Stark, I’m glad to see your father’s good sense and loyalty in you. Perhaps, it was best that a woman be the surviving heir to the Stark name after all.” Sansa felt the sting he meant to inflict by subtly insulting her brother Robb and mother. She didn’t show it. Years at Kings Landing made her a master at this game denouncing her family as traitors. He was testing her.

“I do not agree with how my mother and brother sought their own claim, but I feel it was mostly due to the murder of my father by the Lannisters and their illegitimate and incestuous heirs. They should have supported you from the beginning, my king, as my father did. They are dead and soon all of the Lannisters will follow… and you will be king.“

Clearly, her words were sinking in as sincere. “May I commend you on defeating the Boltons and reclaiming your ancestral home, my lady. Quite the feat for such a young and proper girl. I had heard that Roose intended to marry his bastard to that of Littlefinger's. I intended to squash the Boltons and put Roose’s head on a spike, but you saved my army and I the effort. I thank you." Stannis eyed her cautiously. "However, even the daughter of a Stark would have a difficult time planning such a deceptive plot.” Sansa knew where he was going with this and she was ten steps ahead of him.

“Your Grace, I cannot take the credit. If anyone, Lord Baelish is deserving of the king’s praise, not I. I am only a young woman, and never could have constructed such a cunning ruse.” She bowed again.

Stannis turned to the man at her right, “Ah Lord Baelish, I hardly recognized you. It’s been many years the last time I saw you in Kings Landing. Jon Arryn had made you Master of Coin, I recall.”

“Your Grace, I will forever be grateful to the generosity of the late Lord Arryn and your brother for my good fortunes…” Petyr was cut off quickly.

“Since Lord Stark’s murder by that insolent brat, you continued on in service to the Lannisters. Joffery made you Lord of Harrenhal, I understand.” Stannis wasn’t letting Petyr off the hook as he predicted. Sansa watched in fascination and fear at how Littlefinger would lie out of this one.

“A foolish generosity by Cersei and her inbred boy king. I never had any loyalty to any Lannister. I merely stayed in the capital to try and protect Catelyn Stark’s daughter… ” Petyr gestured towards Sansa. “ …Or I would have left abruptly. The late Lady Stark and I have been life long friends. I couldn’t let her daughter endure the torture the Lannisters would inflict on her. I wish I could have saved her the degradation of being forced to marry the Imp, but in the end, I was able to smuggle her out of Kings Landing and bring her to last surviving blood, Lysa Arryn, in the Vale for protection.”

Sansa observed Petyr recount recent events and took in her surroundings. Stannis’ men were dismounting and aiding the three women in attendance. The older woman must be his ladywife. Grey hair and a sombre face she had. The young girl had a dreadful greyscale across her face but she had an air of sweetness about her. Sansa smiled in her direction and she smiled back. The last, a woman of great beauty with fiery red hair that put hers to shame walked towards Stannis. She was regal and if Sansa didn’t know better, one would have thought this red woman was his queen. There was something about her that made Sansa uneasy. The way she stared at her as if right through her soul.

“So it seems you now have control over Harrenhal, the Trident and now the Vale, Littlefinger.” Stannis summed up the facts.

“Lord Robert has the Vale, your Grace. I’m merely aiding him until he comes of age. After the death of my ladywife, Lord Robert became my adopted son and ward. He will lend support of the Vale to your cause. The Vale and North will unite behind you. I have already met with the Lords Declarant and it will be done. Lady Sansa, now that she has retained her lands, will join as will I.” Petyr could sell a man his own horse for twice the price, Sansa smiled.

“What you’re hoping for is that when I take the throne, you will keep your newfound lordship, is that it?” Stannis was wary just as Petyr predicted once again. But she could see the wheels turning in his head. Petyr knew Stannis needed them more than they needed him.

“My king, with Lady Stark, the young Robert and myself, you will have a new great alliance in the North. Joffery did indeed grant me Harrenhal and by marriage, of course, I control the Vale for now, and you could most certainly take it all away and I accept that risk. I have no loyalty now or ever to the Lannisters. Tywin is dead and whatever power the Lannisters had died with him. Cersei has no idea how to rule with her naïve boy, Jamie is useless and Tyrion, well, I doubt we’ll ever hear from him again. They have no allies. Even Varys the Spider has disappeared. What’s important is who is left and who rallies behind you.”

Stannis was mulling it over and Sansa felt Petyr succeeded. She thought now was a perfect interruption. “My king, forgive me but your family must be weary from travel. Please, come and rest. I have a wonderful feast prepared for you and your men. Wine, ale, warmth…all the comfort you require.” She smiled sweetly.

He was clearly warming to her, “My lady, I thank you for your gracious hospitality.” She could feel Petyr’s smile next to her.

“By the Light of the Seven, I pray you will take the throne soon and save us all,” Sansa added.

“His Grace doesn’t need empty prayers to false gods. The Lord of Light burns his path through this darkness.” The red woman approached Sansa like a stealthy cat stalking its prey.

“The Lord of Light?” Sansa inquired carefully.

“Yes, all that follow Stannis will follow the one true god dear girl. All will renounce the old gods and submit to the new.” Her glazed eyes bored into Sansa as if reading her like a book.

This woman was dangerous. Perhaps she was a priestess of some sort. Whoever she was, Stannis listened to her. Petyr’s voice was in her head telling her to tread softly.

“If my king says this is the new path, I will follow. I don’t know anything about the Lord of Light, but I would like to learn, my lady.” She offered humbly.

“You may call me Melisandre.” The red woman, this _Melisandre_ , circled Sansa slowly and then stopped very close so that they were face to face. Sansa’s instinct was to step back, she didn’t like this woman at all, but she held her ground. The red woman's hands ghosted from Sansa's face downwards towards her stomach and suddenly stopped along with her heart.

“This girl is with child.”


	12. Out of Blue Comes Green

_With child..._

_My child..._

All Petyr could do was stand there. Every eye in the courtyard was on the speechless young Lady of Winterfell. She couldn’t be could she? Petyr kept a stone face just in case anyone might be curious to his reaction. This priestess of Stannis was perhaps a witch or soothsayer. Petyr didn’t believe in such things. He was a practical man that dealt with logic and reason. He couldn’t deny his fear that his future ladywife may carry his child too soon. He knew he never should have bedded her. A night of love and passion put them both at incredible risk. Perhaps this woman was trying to create distrust, but it seemed the oddest route to take he thought.

Sansa’s voice was full of shock and disbelief, “I – _I can’t be_. I…” She desperately looked around and Petyr willed her not to look at him directly for help. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t come to her aid, but it would be best that they didn’t suspect they two of them were lovers. “There must be a mistake, your Grace… _I just couldn’t be_.” There was no doubting her genuine surprise and innocence.

She must have heard his thoughts, for she didn’t once look in his direction. He hated letting her defend herself alone, but what happened next would depend on her answer. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“The Lord of Light allows me to see what you cannot,” Melisandre explained with piety. “You cannot lie to him or to me. Who is the father?” The calm honeyed tone of her voice put Petyr on edge. Why was she so certain of a pregnancy? Sansa Stark wasn’t a threat to anyone at this point. Only Petyr knew of her importance in events to come but this woman singled her out and quickly made him question her motives.

“I don’t know what to say, but that I’m not with child… I would _know,_ wouldn’t I? Why would I lie?” Petyr could see that she was close to tears and he desperately tried to figure out a way to help.

“Your Grace, I’ve known this girl since Lord Stark brought both daughters to Kings Landing. She is an innocent and of true heart….”

“Are you Lord Protector of the Vale or protector of the Stark women, Baelish?”

Selyse, Stannis’ ladywife came to stand beside Melisandre. So, the new Queen was under this red woman’s spell as well.

“My Queen, I’m Sansa’s uncle by marriage. I assume my affections for her mother are rather… well known. I’m only trying to say that I know this girl and she is not capable of such duplicity…”

“She must have lied to the Boltons to gain their trust…no easy task,” she retorted. Well, it seems he underestimated the women around Stannis Baratheon. A mistake he wouldn’t make a second time.

“Deceiving the Boltons was my doing. My lady is an innocent and virtuous girl.” Petyr directed his attention to the red woman. “How are you so sure she is with child? I mean no disrespect, my lady.”

“The Lord of Light tells me everything. She will bear a child before the winter comes full storm.”

Petyr had to think quickly before this spiralled down even further. Stannis stood there quietly watching Sansa’s every move looking for some kind of deception.

“Dear girl, who is the father?” Selyse gave a false comforting embrace to Sansa. “Are you a virgin?”

Before Petyr could say a word, Sansa took the matter into her own hands. She shook her head with her eyes brimming with tears. “Who is the father, Sansa?” Selyse pressed.

“My husband…”

It was barely a whisper and broken with a small sob. Petyr held his breath.

_My clever girl…_

Sansa didn’t need to explain further for Selyse took the bait. “The Bolton boy forced himself on you, did he?” Selyse rounded on Petyr. “So, an innocent girl raped by a foul beast such as Bolton’s bastard was a part of your brilliant plan, Lord Baelish? Is that the price she paid to regain her lands?”

Petyr was ready to take the fall, but Sansa saved him for the second time. She softly cried, “My Queen, he didn’t know. There was never going to be a bedding the way Lord Baelish planned it.” Sansa sobbed into her palms, “I never told anyone, I was too ashamed. Lord Baelish has been so good to me, I didn’t want him to feel guilty. It was my decision to take back my home. I knew the risks…” Sansa gave Petyr a look that told him to play along and his brain worked quickly for a story that could serve them both.

“My lady, you never left my sight during the wedding, when?… why didn’t you tell me?” he implored. She needed to say it, not him, to make it convincing.

“It was the night before the wedding, my Lord. I didn’t realize there wasn’t a bolt on my door until it was too late. He gagged me and I couldn’t scream. And I knew you would seek revenge but I didn’t want to ruin the careful plans we made, so I remained silent.” Sansa was becoming a skilled liar indeed as he watched her play the innocent victim. He told her the best lies were mixed with the truth. Don’t overdo it and make it simple to believe.

“When it was all over, I was so relieved your Grace. I had my home again, and I knew you were coming and everything would be all right. I just wanted to forget, to believe it never happened. It’s been well past the turn of the moon. Please believe me, I don’t know if I’m with child. I could be, I suppose. I’m so ashamed, your Grace. I should have been stronger…” Sansa pleaded gently and sobbed like a sweet naïve child. Even Petyr would have believed her had he not been _the husband_ , or future husband she truthfully singled out.

_But I’m not her husband… if I’m not careful, I never will be._

Petyr smiled to himself, just as the Vale lords after Lysa’s death, Stannis believed every word. “My dear lady, I’m so sorry I couldn’t have been here faster to save Winterfell for you, to spare you such horrors. The innocent and faithful shouldn’t be made to suffer. You pledged your fealty to me, offered me support in my time of need… in return, I will offer you my protection. The loyalty of you and your father will be rewarded.” Stannis guided Sansa over to Petyr, “Lord Baelish, for your sake, I hope the Boltons suffered greatly. As for Lady Sansa and her unborn child, I hold you fully responsible, as you are her only _family_ now _._ ” Petyr knew he might have a harder time convincing Stannis but he never imagined having to lie his way out of something like this. Sansa lied to save them both.

Sansa buried her head in his chest and sobbed, she really knew how to play this part. No one could question her virtuousness he believed. He would play the paternal and protective uncle with equal measure. He wrapped an arm about her in a comforting gesture, but unlike the new Queen, his was sincere.

They needed to leave this inquisition and repair the damage. First, he wanted a moment of privacy with Sansa and this could be his only opportunity while their unwanted guests were at Winterfell. “Your Grace, my lady is clearly emotional and exhausted. She has been through so much. It would be best if she rested. After your long journey, I believe everyone would benefit from rest, food and wine. I have comfortable chambers waiting and servants to attend to your every need.”

Petyr waited for Stannis’ lead hoping he would act the merciful king and accept their hospitality. If they believed Sansa was pregnant with a Bolton heir, what else was there to do about it? All the Bolton’s were dead. It would only give Sansa claim to their lands if the king decreed it so or take the lands for himself. Given the circumstances, she could abort the childlike Hoster Tully commanded Lysa with Petyr’s child. The thought made him ill. If she were indeed pregnant, it was _his_ child. Not only would he be losing a child from a woman he actually loved but also he knew what Moon Tea did to a pregnant woman. Lysa was cursed ever since in childbirth. He wouldn’t condemn Sansa to that fate unless she truly did not want it.

Petyr never really thought of that. Perhaps she didn’t want to have his children. How would he know? He looked down at the crying girl in his arms and wondered.

“Ladies, come. We can discuss all of this at a later time. A Bolton heir is nothing to be feared. Baelish, I wish to speak with you after you take care of Lady Stark, of course.”

Petyr bowed his head holding Sansa as Stannis breezed past them into the foyer.

“Of course, your Grace.”

Selyse and their daughter walked past and she gave Petyr a disapproving glare. The young princess was the opposite of her stern mother; there was sympathy in the way she looked at Sansa. When Petyr glanced up, the red woman stood unmoving staring at them. He had heard of some priestess or witch at Dragonstone that was advising the elder Baratheon. He paid it no mind at the time, thinking it was just boring gossip. Now, he knew he would have to play very carefully around this woman. Whatever she was, he knew for certain she was dangerous and could cause trouble.

Melisandre glided over to them wearing nothing but a simple dress. Petyr only now noticed that, unlike everyone else, she wore no furs or even a warm cloak in this bitter cold. Her gaze never left his until they were face to face. She looked down to Sansa and ran a hand through her soft curls.

“Sweet girl, choose the light and you will have nothing to fear from me. The Lord of Light will protect us all from the evils of the world. Come see me when you are rested, and I can help you decide what to do with this unwanted child.”

The red woman glanced back up to study Petyr’s face. He didn’t yield and held her challenging gaze. She didn’t speak another word but gave him a secretive smile as she followed her king inside leaving Petyr and Sansa in the freezing cold.


	13. Children of War

Sansa let Petyr guide her inside and up the stairs. She didn’t speak nor look at him. She walked down the long corridor to her bedchamber without so much as an upward glance. Petyr opened the heavy door for her and she shuffled into the warmth of her room as he closed the door behind them.

She was in a fog. She didn’t know what just happened downstairs. She had her words all planned out and it was working so well. Then the red woman spoke and everything went to hell.

 _This girl is with child_ , she told everyone.

 _No. I can’t be. It was only one night_. It was too soon to tell such a thing. Sansa was so overwhelmed with ridding the Boltons from Winterfell and setting things right, that she never paid any attention to her Moon cycle. Sansa tried the sums in her head, thinking of the date that she and Petyr… _Oh Gods_. Her heart sunk. The priestess was right after all. Her moon’s blood was overdue. There was no denying it now.

_I’m going to have Petyr’s child._

No matter what happened next, they would be forever tied to each other. Sansa ran her hands over her stomach. It was flat but soon she would be round and full. She saw her mother pregnant with her younger siblings, the sickness, and the pain... Sansa wasn’t ready. She was too young, wasn’t she? She could still hear her mother’s screams during childbirth.

Sansa felt faint. A tingling sensation in her toes and the tightness in her chest, she could scarcely breathe until she felt Petyr enclose his arms around her waist from behind. There were no words between them as he held her. After a moment she felt him remove her cloak along with his own. She turned to him; eyes brimming with unshed tears and embraced him fully. Sansa held him so tightly scared that he might run away. She just wanted to hold and be held. She released a small sob when his arms finally wrapped around her.

“I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t,” answering the question she felt he was silently asking.

“I believe you, sweetling,” he breathed into her ear. “You are sure, then?”

She nodded into his chest and he sighed deeply. “My moon’s blood hasn’t come. I – we… were so busy, I didn’t think. Are you angry with me?” She couldn’t hide the fear in her voice.

“I’m angry with myself, how could I be angry with you? I should have had more self-control.” He chuckled softly against her neck, “I am powerless when it comes to you and I’ve put us both in unnecessary danger.”

“I wanted it as much as you. I could have stopped it, told you ‘no’.” In fact, the second time she was the one that started it. They were both to blame, she thought.

What would happen if anyone found out who the real father was, she wondered. Would they kill Petyr…and her? She didn’t lie when she said the father was her husband. Petyr was her husband as far as she was concerned. But she knew that they would think of Ramsay Bolton, and so she told the lie. It would be safer if they thought she was raped. But now, what of this unborn child?

“Do you want me to get rid of it?” she whispered dully. It was easier to say it than wonder if he would ask eventually. She felt his body tense and then he pulled away to look in her eyes.

“Is that what you want?” His voice was steady and she couldn’t read him. Sansa felt he was building a wall between them. Did he want this child or was it a burden to him. Was she now a burden to him as well? She wasn’t ready to be Lady of Winterfell let alone a young, new mother on her own. Would he abandon them even against Stannis’ order?

“I- I don’t know. I never expected this. I don’t know what to do.” She couldn’t help the tears streaming down her face. His eyes were tender, as he looked her over. “Tell me what to do, Petyr, and I’ll do it.”

“No, I can’t make this decision for you. It won’t be easy regardless of what you choose. Both options are wrought with complications.” He was so emotionless or trying too hard to appear so. This was his child too. Didn’t he care?

“Petyr, do you really want to marry me or is it only for power? Please tell me the truth.” She couldn’t even look in his eyes for fear of certainty.

She could feel the smirk on his face as he said it, “What do you think?”

“Stop that. Stop answering me with questions. Tell me. I need to know. _Please_ … _just this once be honest with me._ ” Her eyes pleaded with him.

“Yes...” When she tried to say that wasn’t what she asked, he silenced her. “But you need to answer something for me first. Do you really want someone like me for your husband? I’m too old for you and I’ll protect you regardless of your response, but this child will bind you to me forever…”

Did she really want to marry him and bear his children? Yes, he was much older but it didn’t bother her as she thought it would. She liked that he was experienced and could teach her. The longer she was with him; she couldn’t imagine being with another man. He made her feel safe, intelligent, adored and yes, even loved. If they didn’t have danger all around them, would she be happy knowing she was with child?

Sansa leaned up and kissed him with all the love and passion she possessed. Petyr was never the man of her romantic dreams. Those men didn’t exist. She convinced herself he was the man she needed, that she could use and feel protection. He always said that emotions clouded rational thought. No one could remain detached forever. Emotions got him here just as much as her…

“I want your child…but only if you do as well. I don’t want you to lie to me and tell me what you think I want to hear. I want the truth no matter how hard it is to hear. If you truly don’t want us, tell me now. I don’t want to be another Lysa to you. If land and power is all you want, just say it and you can have it all. You don’t need to pretend to love this child or me for that.”

There was such sadness in the way he looked at her, that she thought for sure he was going to tell her what she dreaded to hear the most.

“It would be better for you to abort this child or continue to let them believe it’s a Bolton. I will bring you nothing but misery. I’m terrified of what they could do to you if they ever believe it’s my child you carry. There’s no room in this game for love and much less children. I’ve been able to make choices necessary because I had nothing to lose. I was willing to risk it all, my life included. You had become my only weakness; I knew it the night before the wedding. And now? “

Petyr dropped to his knees before her and wrapped his arms around her. “Now, I have everything to lose. I can’t allow that. You shouldn’t want a man like me. I am a danger to you. You should think about yourself. Don’t tell me you love me.” He held her closer and after a few moments, a pitiful laugh arose, “What a sad lot we are. The only thing I ever wanted when I fancied Cat was love, a family and a simple life. I could have been content with that once. You wanted your prince and rosy dreams of happiness. We’re both just pathetic children living lie, aren’t we? I wish I could just stop it all and take you away, but it’s too far gone now to change the course. We’re going to have to ride this out one way or another. “

Sansa sunk to the floor; she wished that they could just disappear. There was more at stake than just themselves. Too much had happened and they would need to see it through.

“You don’t want to marry me, sweetling. One day, you will meet a young man and he will sweep you off your feet. He will love you and you’ll forget about this old man you thought you once fancied. You’ll regret you bore my child or married me. Don’t you see? I’ve given you no choice but me. Would you have ever given me a second glance before any of your young and handsome suitors? You’re choosing me now because you’re pregnant and there is nothing better to choose from.”

“I was stupid and naïve then… the past doesn’t matter, it’s right now. You are what I want now. We can make this work, you and I. Your wits and my mother’s beauty, remember?” Sansa felt like she was losing ground so quickly. He was so confident before. Stannis would leave, and perhaps after a few months they could be wed and North would be theirs. Why was he sabotaging it all? She had never known him to be a man of fear.

“No. I have been selfish for too long. I cannot do this to you. I will not make this worse for you do you understand me? That woman knows something, I don’t know how or what but she is very dangerous. I can’t let any of them be suspicious of you. I risked you once, and I will not do it again.” Somehow they had switched roles, she was trying to hard to convince him this was the right course of action and he was rebelling against it.

“Petyr, we could pretend it’s Ramsay’s and I’ll persuade them I want to keep it for some reason. I’ll find a reason. I’ll make them believe it. Then after a few months or when the babe is born, you can tell Stannis that you married me to protect the child and me and raise it as your own…” He was so stubborn. She didn’t want to tell him out of fear that he could use her feelings for him against her, but now he needed to know. “Petyr... I – I love you, we could make it work…”

Petyr kissed her and only then could she taste a saltiness that only came from tears and they were not hers. “Oh my sweetling, please don’t say you love me. Save that for a man worthy of you, not one that has manipulated you since he met you. You don’t know me, or what I’ve done. If you did, you wouldn’t give your love so easily.”

“I could forgive your past. I know who and what you are. You’ve told me and I don’t care. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your actions. I would be worse off as you said. I chose this path with you. I accept the perils that could befall us both. I would rather die as my own woman, a player, than someone else’s pawn. I choose to stand beside you. I choose to bear our child.”

“You _stubborn_ woman. If I didn’t make you care for me, you’d be taking a potion even now and forcing me back to the Vale to protect yourself. That’s how a player acts. Without love and emotion clouding smart and logical moves. Didn’t I teach you anything?”

“You also taught me how to thrive on chaos. I’m not letting emotions get the better of me, I just happen to know what I want now. I will do what I must to get it. I know now you don’t love me, and that is all right. I will not betray you because I love you. I will raise your child even if you don’t want it. I will love it enough for the both of us.”

Sansa was hoping he would correct her and tell her he loved her too but the words never came. She willed herself not to cry. She would let him go so he could finish this game he started. She had her home back now and she knew he wouldn’t betray her. Somehow she knew he would never hurt her again out of respect. He may still care for her but he didn’t love her. She had to think about this new life she carried. This child was now her priority and she would make damn sure to protect it with everything she possessed. She knew Petyr needed to be strong and independent in his own way, she and the child were a liability to him. He was right, if someone wanted to get to him, all they would need to do is threaten her and his child. She knew he would do everything to save them. She just knew it in her heart. Maybe that was his way of loving… guarding them. Petyr was more of a broken man than she ever realized. He didn’t want to be weak again and that’s what love meant. Weakness. He was cut down as a young boy all because he loved. He loved a woman that never loved him in return. Today, he had a girl that told him she wanted him, loved him and would give him a child. Even now, he couldn’t let it happen. Let someone love him.

He cared for her and he would shield her. Even the thought of aborting the child was a form of protection. He was in genuine fear that something horrible would happen to his child and he wouldn’t be able to safeguard it. Maybe that was love, too. Her young brothers were killed because of who they were, Cersei's children would be picked off one by one. She hated the woman and Joffery, but now that she would become a mother herself, she could understand why Cersei was so protective of her lion cubs. Children were an easy target and she would have to be prepared to take on whatever came her way.

So, this was it, Sansa told herself. She would continue the lie and raise the child.

Sansa was so lost in thought; she forgot that she and Petyr were still on the floor wrapped in each other. He had this look of awe as he caressed her cheek. “You are the strongest woman I’ve ever known. I wish… “ He seemed to have thought better than to voice whatever was in his head and finished it instead with a kiss so bittersweet it took her breath away. He may have never said the words, but there was nothing but love in a kiss such as this. He threaded her hair between his fingers as her arms came up and wound around his neck. He gently pulled away and studied her face and sighed.

Petyr stood and helped her stand with him. “Stannis will be expecting me. I need to clear my head. You should rest until the feast. It would be best not to talk to anyone as much as possible. Beware of that woman I implore you. Do not drink anything she gives you or anything at all within her presence. I couldn’t bear anything happening to you... or the child.” She felt as though he wanted to say more, but couldn’t. Petyr walked to her basin and quickly splashed his face with water. It was a captivating moment to watch as he dried his face and looked in the mirror. Suddenly his posture straightened, as he stood taller and just that quick his mask was on. There was no trace of the desperate, caring man that pleaded with her only moments ago.

Littlefinger was on his way to meet with the new king, surely to discuss not only the condition of the new Lady Stark but the war looming ahead. He had on his armour and was ready to battle. Sansa needed to clear her mind as well. Her next battle would be with none other… the red woman.


	14. Innocence

Petyr paced his solar for so long, he could have worn through the wool rug. This was not what he wanted to be doing today, trying desperately to figure out a new plan and fast before anyone suspected anything was dubious. He had a whole different scenario ready to sell to Stannis but now; here he was cursing himself for being so stupid. Petyr finished his goblet of wine and threw it against the stone wall shattering it into oblivion.

He could still hear her pleading with him to tell her the truth, not what he thought she wanted to know. In the end, Petyr mixed lies with the truth and told her what she _needed_ to hear. He wasn’t about to make promises he knew he could never keep.

Petyr recognized his feelings were clouding his judgment. For the last fortnight, he refused to share a bed with her. She was getting too used to this newfound intimacy between them. He didn’t lie when he told her that he was making her care for him and cutting off options that didn’t lead her to him. That was the plan all along. Sansa would have no choice but to choose him in the end. What Petyr had not fully planned on was opening his heart to this girl. She wasn’t Cat, she was better and it was becoming harder to resist taking what he wanted _now_ rather than later. Acting on that impulse, those sweet emotions, presently had them in a situation that would have been best avoided altogether.

He knew she was becoming more dependent and fond of him, but her declaration of love left him nervous. Wasn’t that what he wanted? For her to fall for him… to choose him? So many of his old insecurities came rushing forward. _Gods_ , he actually tried to convince her that she shouldn’t want him. In his own twisted way, he desired to know if she really wanted and loved him or if she just needed him to protect her. Petyr did not want her to become another Lysa. Bitter, blinded by love and overprotective of a child that you forget the rest of the world. The way she was talking made him very worried indeed. She was too young to go this route, to bear a child in the midst of this war.

Petyr almost hoped she would choose abortion… _almost_ , for it would make things much easier for them both. He couldn’t deny that someday in the future he would have been thrilled to hear such news from her lips. Why did it have to be now? He had already made changes to his plans to include Sansa more as an equal, but now… he had to decide what to do with the two of them. A child was a complication they didn’t need.

 _It’s a good thing I thrive on chaos,_ he once told her. Yes, it was also much simpler to make the necessary decisions when you could hold your emotions at bay. The more she tried to convince him the more he realized she was set on keeping it. He didn’t want to appear insensitive, so he told her he cared, held and kissed her but refused to say the words she was so desperate to hear.

Instead, he expressed to her he wasn’t worthy of her and that he was scared that they would be targets, which was true, but at the same time wanted her to take control. If she kept this child, it couldn’t be his. Perhaps it might even be years to come before he could ever claim it as his. Sansa would have to do this on her own to protect the child and herself. He thought she wanted to know that he cared for her, but he also wanted her to think logically. Everything she set before him was based all on emotion… love. Sansa wasn’t thinking smartly anymore. All she could see was marriage and a child… not the big picture and the ramifications of what they did from this point on.

So he tried to gently push her away, make her think for herself. She wanted him to say he loved her too, he guessed at seeing the hope in her eyes. No, there can’t be love. Love will get them killed and Petyr wasn’t ready to die just yet. He definitely wasn’t ready to see her or his new child murdered because the game got too rough. He had far too many long laid plans to just play happy family while Westeros fell into the pit of hell. Oh, he was going to burn it down, but he certainly wasn’t planning on being in the center of that funeral pyre. He lied when he said he wouldn’t risk her again. He knew this game was only going to get more dangerous towards the end. As much as he loved her and would love a child she gave him, he was ultimately still a selfish man. He didn’t get this far to stop now or let anyone else win. No, he would see this to the end.

If they were going to survive this game, Sansa needed to play it his way. She needed to stay strong and learn to depend on herself. She needed to keep that ruthless quality that got her home back and not go soft because of motherhood.

She was right; he didn’t want her to become another Lysa. And that’s what he was afraid of. The bitter pill he served her was for the best.

Convincing Stannis was his priority at the moment and he needed to focus on that. A Bolton heir raised by a Stark was no threat to anyone. Petyr didn’t have cause for concern that the Northerns would rebel against Sansa. After all, she was raped and the Boltons were dead. She would appear a saint for raising such a child as her own and quite possibly endear the North to her cause. Plus, it would give her claim to the Bolton lands. It only meant more power for her and Petyr. You take a little more each time until you have it all.

Petyr needed Stannis to either move on to take the Greyjoys or gather reinforcements in the Vale and Riverlands. Since he and Sansa saved him the effort of having to take Winterfell, Petyr likened the idea of sending his army to the Iron Islands first. It would give him more time to plan and prepare and quite possibly make this new king even more dependent on his growing resources. Petyr had all the preparations made in Gulltown and the Vale had enormous provisions plus a fresh army to move southward.

Yes, this is where his mind needed to be. He would tend to Sansa later and take the next step to make her Queen of the North. That’s all that mattered right now.

* * *

The feast reminded Sansa of better days in Winterfell when her family was alive and the summer was warm even with the occasional snowfall. Petyr spared no expense in welcoming the new king. It was all so similar to the now-infamous wedding feast over a month ago only this time there were no Frey meat pies and no one had to worry about their cup being poisoned… except for herself.

Sansa looked at her goblet of wine sitting in front of her. She hadn’t touched it all night. Melisandre, the red woman, was already seated when Sansa and Petyr arrived and the wine had been poured along with plates of food. Earlier, Petyr had told her not to eat or drink anything near this woman. So there she sat, hungry and her throat parched. She tried to smile and participate in pleasant conversation, but Sansa would have rather stayed in her room tonight if she had a choice. She knew everyone would be talking about her now and she hated being a spectacle. Petyr insisted that she must attend or insult her guests even under such circumstances.

Petyr had spent a better part of the afternoon with Stannis in his solar. What they really discussed, she had no idea nor did Petyr tell her except news on Jon’s whereabouts. Sansa didn’t even bother looking for him at the feast, because he never left Castle Black. After being named Lord Commander, he chose to stay and guard The Wall than return home. Sansa wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but she couldn’t begrudge him and the vows he took. He was an honourable man, like their father. She learned that Stannis offered to formally make him Lord of Winterfell and she would have become his ward. She loved Jon and he was a good man, but after all that she had been through, only to find out that she would not inherit her own family’s land stung. Sansa felt guilty for thinking such things but she had changed so much these past years. Now that she was with child, she was going to do what she needed to protect both of them. If Petyr doesn’t claim the child as his own, the only thing it will inherit is the Stark name and holdings… and now she could hold a claim on Bolton lands as well. Yes, to everyone this was a child sired by Ramsay Bolton, a man the North feared, loathed and cheered happily at his demise.

She could hear every whisper and saw every knowing glance made towards her as she made her way into the great hall. It wasn’t like the court in King’s Landing where the whispers were followed by rude snickers and mocking sneers. These Northerns were looking at her with pity. What must she have endured at the hands of Ramsay Bolton? And now she was cursed with carrying his child, a cruel punishment for taking back what was rightfully hers. She would milk that pity for all it was worth.

Sansa realized that perhaps this wouldn’t be as difficult as she thought to fake. It was easy to play the tragic girl wronged by others. How would she explain that she wanted to keep the child? Not one person in the North would have judged her badly if she wished to terminate this pregnancy. Petyr said it would be better if she did, but even as he said it, something in his voice told her that maybe he didn’t truly want that. Regardless of what he may want, it was still her decision to make. It would be the easier route, but the more she thought about it, the more she knew she could never do such a thing.

She did want this child, that wasn’t a lie. She just wished Petyr wanted it too. He was seated next to her but engrossed in politics with Stannis’ man, Davos. On her right was the little princess, Shireen. She was a sweet girl about Arya’s age when they first came to Kings Landing. The poor child suffered from Greyscale but somehow survived it. She didn’t seem close to her mother, the Queen, but it was obvious her father adored her. Stannis was a hard man, but he appeared to love this child even with her disfigurement. A good father, Sansa thought.

She remembered watching Petyr swinging SweetRobin around when she first met her Aunt Lysa. He could have been a good father, she thought. She was careful not to focus on him with all the eyes watching her every move. She looked back towards Stannis and caught Melisandre’s unflinching gaze. Sansa didn’t want to appear too bold or challenge her, considering this woman foretold her condition before everyone in Winterfell. She would be meek and play the victim saddled with a burden. Sansa sadly smiled at the red woman and acknowledging her in a way she would hope would cause no further suspicion.

“Are you not very hungry, Lady Stark?” Shireen’s sweet voice cut through the weight of her thoughts. Sansa looked at her and smiled sincerely, “No, I’m afraid not. I - … please call me Sansa. I hear _Lady Stark_ and I look for my mother. May I call you Shireen?”

“Of course.” Shireen leaned towards Sansa and whispered, “I don’t like being called a Princess. They’re supposed to be pretty and I’m not. I think you’re very pretty.” Sansa liked this little girl. She endured such a nasty ailment as Greyscale and yet, here she was smiling and happy.

“Thank you. I think you are lovely and you do make a sweet Princess.” The small girl made a face of disbelief. “Those pretty girls you speak of are usually very nasty. They are cruel and that makes them uglier than any troll. You are beautiful. I would have loved to have a friend like you when I was trapped in Kings Landing.”

The young princess beamed and Sansa’s heart lightened for a moment. It was a pleasant distraction. She could see out of the corner of her eye, the disapproving glare of her mother seated on the other side of Stannis and suddenly the girl stopped smiling and focused on her dinner plate. Sansa gave the girls hand a light squeeze and she could see a tiny smile forming at the corner of the Shireen’s mouth.

 _A girl._ That’s what she would like to have. A sweet girl she could dress up and play with the way she never could with Arya when they were little. Boys were desirable as heirs, but what did she care anyhow? No one wanted this child except her, she thought sadly, and she wanted a little girl that she could love unconditionally.

She felt Petyr’s hand on her thigh under the table. He leaned over with a smile on his face and whispered, “You should smile a little bit. This is a celebration after all. You’re too sullen.”

Sansa smiled as if he told her something amusing in case people were watching their exchange. “Well, I _am_ a girl that was raped and now carry the child of a monster that everyone despised. I think it would seem odd if I weren’t slightly upset.”

Petyr chuckled, keeping up appearances, “Yes, we don’t want to raise suspicion now, do we? But your people also want to see you happy. Try to enjoy yourself just a bit. The little princess seems taken with you.” A genuine smile formed on Sansa’s face and then she felt Petyr give her thigh a pat in approval.

When he didn’t move his hand and Sansa was a little worried someone might see. She leaned forward resting her forearms on the table. They were sitting so close; even their legs were touching. Petyr was talking again with Davos and his hand never moved. Sansa dabbed her mouth with her serviette and then draped it over her lap partially covering his forearm. Her left hand crept under the shield of fabric and placed her hand on top of his. His rings were ice cold but his skin was warm. She laced her fingers through his and gave a small squeeze.

Petyr raised a single eyebrow questioning her. Sansa whispered, “I’m terribly hungry…” She didn’t need to finish when a slight look of shame washed over Petyr’s face.

“Of course, sweetling. Forgive me.” Petyr snapped his fingers and a servant brought over a fresh bottle of unopened wine. Stannis gave Petyr an inquisitorial glare. “My lady’s favourite vintage, Your Grace. I kept a bottle just for her, I meant no offence, surely you would like the first glass…” Stannis waved it off with slight irritation but he watched with interest as Sansa took the first sip. Obviously, poisoning was still an unwelcome factor at such events and she thought Stannis would have insisted she taste it first anyhow.

“Take this away, my lady has a sensitive appetite.” Petyr handed the servant her dinner plate and in exchange, a plate of cheeses, fruits and fresh, hot bread was laid in front of her. Her mouth practically watered. She sliced a ripe pomegranate and could see Petyr with a barely visible grin as he drank from his glass. She thanked him by pressing her leg firmly against his and he acknowledged by tapping her foot with his own. Sansa hid her smile as she ate, she felt like a young girl flirting with a boy under the noses of her parents. She was amused that this entire room of people had no idea what was between them.

The evening winded down and it was clear everyone was exhausted in one way or another. Sansa couldn’t conceal her own weariness as she finished her duties as lady and hostess. She bid goodnight to Stannis and his family and spotted the red woman who seemed to be waiting for her. She walked up to Melisandre debating whether should have waited until later to approach her. It was probably best to deal with her soon rather than appear as if she was avoiding her or worse in fear of her.

“Melisandre, I have been thinking deeply this afternoon about what you told me. I was wondering if I could meet with you in private tomorrow perhaps? I have many questions… and I hoped…if it wasn’t a burden… “ Sansa tried to sound as innocent as possible hoping she didn’t overdo it.

“Young Stark, come see me tomorrow afternoon and we’ll see if I can help you.” Melisandre stared into Sansa’s eyes as if searching for something. Sansa smiled sweetly in return.

“I appreciate any advice you could give me, my lady. His Grace has faith in you… “

“Stannis has faith in the Lord of Light and he rewards him. We’ll have you look into the flames tomorrow and see what he has in store for you, young Lady of Winterfell.” Sansa could only nod at this woman. She didn’t know what she meant by looking into the flames but Sansa only hoped she didn’t bite off more than she could chew with the red priestess as she left the great hall.

“May I escort you to your chambers, my lady?” Petyr startled her from behind. She glanced at the direction Stannis and the red woman left the foyer. Petyr had given them the south wing opposite of their own chambers and Petyr’s solar. The rooms were newly refinished he informed them with pristine furnishings, down beds and their own privy. Fit for a king, Petyr said.

Sansa nodded as Petyr took her hand and guided her up the stairs. As they reached her door, she stopped. “I’m not tired just yet. May I sit in your solar for a little while?” She could tell he was debating it, but then he suddenly took her arm and walked further down the corridor to the last room.

He had already ordered the fire lit and the room was warm and comforting. Petyr removed his doublet, draping it over the back of the chair and sat at his desk while sifted through a stack of papers without saying a word. He was sweet and a bit flirtatious at the feast in front all those people, yet here they were, all alone and he acted as though she wasn’t even there.

She was very tired, but at the same time, she didn’t want to go to her lonely room. Even his silent company was better than nothing at all. Sansa browsed his collection of books praying that maybe he had something that wasn’t about politics or history. All she could find was a tome on folklore and figured it was the best she was going to get tonight. Maybe she could come across something regarding this Lord of Light. She carried the heavy book over to the plush lounge chair and tried to make herself comfortable.

Skimming the massive volume for the better of an hour, Sansa saw nothing of interest. She would occasionally catch Petyr glancing at her as she read but they never spoke. Sighing, she closed the book and pushed it off her lap hitting the floor with a resounding thud.

Petyr looked up and raised an eyebrow at her in slight annoyance. Yes, she too was annoyed and also… _bored_. After their despairing conversation that afternoon, and embarrassing herself with accolades of love that were unrequited, she didn’t know what to talk to him about. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do in regards to the red priestess, and since he didn’t seem like he was going to be helpful at all in regards to the what to do about the child, she remained silent.

She saw a fresh decanter of wine on his desk and was desperate for a drink. She could see how easy it would be to become dependent on it. Alcohol was very calming and when tipsy, your worries would melt away.

Sansa got up and poured herself a glass and Petyr’s ink-stained fingers closed over his wrist. “I don’t think you should have any more tonight, sweetling.”

“I thought you weren’t going to tell me what to do anymore.” She slowly peeled his fingers away. “It’s alright for you men to get drunk, but when we women indulge… “

“This isn’t indulging. Plus, men don’t give birth. It’s probably not best to drink much while you’re pregnant.” His demeanour was calm as he watched her.

Sansa played with his fingers gently, not making eye contact. “Well, if I don’t keep it… it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Why was she baiting him? He already told her that it would probably be best to abort it in the first place.

“So, you’ve changed your mind? You don’t want it?” His voice was controlled and mellow as if he were discussing the weather.

“I didn’t say that… “ Sansa matched his tone while toying with one of his silver rings.

Petyr had beautiful hands; graceful and masculine but still… elegant. She remembered the feel of his hand on her thigh during the feast, the slight squeeze he gave her. _Gods_ , she missed his touch. Sansa came around the desk and boldly sat on his thigh and began looking through the papers.

“What are you working so intently on?” She could feel his curious gaze as she pretended to be interested in his letters. When he didn’t answer, she turned to look at him innocently.

“What’s gotten into you?” He said it more to himself and sounded roughly amused.

Sansa smiled seductively, “ _You_ … I would think that was relatively obvious by now.” Petyr huffed with a hint of laughter and Sansa eyed him as she took a drink of wine, challenging him.

“Now, I _know_ you’ve had enough.” Petyr took the glass from her hand, and after taking a much-needed gulp, placed it as far from her reach as possible. “It’s probably time you went to bed.”

“Oh? Am I distracting you… _Uncle_?” Sansa inched closer up his lap; she could smell wine on his breath and wondered how much he had to drink tonight. If she just bent slightly over, she could taste his lips and find out.

“Yes,” he drawled but his eyes were slowly darkening. She could feel the change ever so slightly in his breathing. She gazed at his lips with hunger.

“Hmm, then I probably shouldn’t do this, should I?” Sansa kissed him very softly trying to coax him to kiss her back. She opened her mouth a bit and teased the seam of his lips with her tongue and he couldn’t resist anymore. When he opened his mouth in response, her tongue touched the tip of his and she was lost. She moaned into his mouth and he kissed her back. He tasted of mulled wine and a hint of mint. She loved the way he kissed as his hand found the back of her head and tilted it to give him better access.

She needed to get closer but her dress was a hindrance. Sansa stood up, her mouth never leaving him, hitched up her skirts enough to straddle his lap before he could protest. Oh, she could feel he was hard through his breeches and desire coursed through her veins. _He still wanted her._ He may not love her, she thought, but this; he couldn’t deny this lust between them. If he still desired her, she still had a hold on him.

Sansa smiled against his lips. Such soft lips he had and better to kiss with no scratchy moustache to burn her delicate skin. Is that why…

“I was meaning to ask you before, why did you suddenly shave?” She teased along his jaw loving his smooth skin. She felt more than heard a deep chuckle as she kissed down his throat.

Petyr pushed her back and his eyes were almost black. He smiled and lightly touched around her mouth with his index finger. “I needed a change.”

“Liar.”

She kissed his finger and boldly took the digit into her mouth not breaking his gaze. The look in his eyes was pure fascination as she lightly sucked and swirled her tongue around his finger all the way to the hilt. She didn’t know where this confidence was coming from. Sansa held his hand in place and stared him. She felt wanton and an intense need to break him. His hardness was growing and she brazenly added pressure from her hips while sucking his finger.

Petyr’s breathing became heavy and he was trying with difficulty to maintain some control. “After that first night… “ He gingerly removed his finger from her mouth just far enough to brush the delicate skin above her lip. “Because this was bright red, I didn’t want to damage it.” He smiled wickedly, “And a tell-tell sign that you had been thoroughly kissed.”

“Ah, so it was for _my_ benefit. Odd, considering you haven’t touched me in weeks. Seems rather pointless if I’m not able to enjoy it, don’t you think?” She hovered over his mouth breathing him in.

_Come on, Petyr… take it, take me._

He was thinking too long, damnit. She could feel he was aroused, see the lust in his eyes. What was he waiting for?

Fine, if he wanted to play this game, she would make him burn, beg… the thought of breaking him had her core aching. She was actually getting wet at the mere idea of seducing him. Oh, she wanted him so badly right now and would not leave this room discontented. Not tonight.

She kissed him without abandon and forcefully rocked her hips against his manhood causing him to moan into her open mouth. _Oh_ , she missed hearing that sound from him. His hands came to her hips and stilled them. His voice was rough with lust and his words contradicted everything else his body was telling her, “No, we cannot do this.”

Sansa didn’t stop, she found a pulse point under his jaw and suckled it, “Are you sure? Because I want this… “ She ground down hard on his cock that forced out a harsh breath from him making him clutch her hips so hard it almost hurt. “… and I’m fairly certain _you_ want this.”

Her hand snaked under her skirts and found him. “Don’t you want me anymore?”

He hissed and his eyes were wild with desire. She started unlacing his breeches and his hand clamped over hers. Sansa looked at him, he was holding onto the last bit of control he had. Why he didn’t just give in, she couldn’t understand. She was already with child. What else could be stopping him? Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to let him win this match. She moved her hand away from his hardness and he released his grip. Only she turned his hand over and brought it to her apex where her smallclothes were soaked through. She sucked on his earlobe and whispered,

“ _This_ is what you do to me.” She rubbed against his fingers needing to feel some kind of friction. “This is what I think about at night… alone in my bed. Wanting to feel you inside me.” She could feel that he moved her damp silks aside and finally, his fingers slid against her. Oh Gods, she almost came right then.

“I have to pretend you’re there. Imagine your mouth on me…”

Sansa was breathing so hard; her mouth was dry as his head dipped to her chest. His free hand unlaced her ties on the front of her gown enough to loosen the fabric and taste her breast. Her eyes rolled back at the lapping of his tongue around her perk nipple and moaned into his ear. As his mouth lavished attention, he pulled her upwards to give his hand more room to manoeuvre. She felt one of his fingers push inside and she couldn’t help but wince at a hint of pain. It had been well over a month since she had him last and she was tight all over again. She clenched his finger involuntarily and the sensation to him must have been that of pure pleasure for his voice cracked.

“ _Oh, dear Gods…_ ”

This was the closest they had been intimate since that fateful night and Sansa wanted more. Here she was straddling him in his chair like one of his whores and it didn’t bother her. All that mattered was that he was touching her again and making her come alive. This was the father of her unborn child and no matter what he said or did from this point on; it still didn’t change that fact. Or that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

Petyr played her with his fingers and she felt like he was trying hard to make her come. As good as it felt, she didn’t want him to take back control. No, this was her game tonight and she was going to make him play along if it killed him as a delectable idea sprung into her mind.

She rose up on her knees, not realizing how much they were aching in this cramped position and kissed him while her feet found the floor again. She trailed kisses down his neck as her body lowered.

“You know what else I think about? How your mouth felt between my legs… how wicked it was.”

With that, she gently pushed his thighs apart and rested between them. She had heard of women doing this to men but the thought of it sickened her before. After experiencing him fucking her with his mouth, she was curious if it would give her as much control over him as she felt powerless under him that night.

He was breathing heavy and she could only stare at him slouched in front of her. The bulge in his breeches was evident and only inches from her head. For a moment, she became self-conscious and wasn’t sure what to do or even if he would want her to do what she was contemplating. Suddenly, she was nervous and she saw it in his eyes.

Petyr never broke her gaze and one of his damned smirks lit up his face. He was expectant, even curious to see if she would have the nerve to take him on in such a way. She was still so innocent and to abruptly take power over a man was daunting. And not just any man, this one owned whores and probably taught them how to do this to men every day. She could feel he was relaxing in his newfound control and she was back to being a stupid naïve girl.

He raised a single eyebrow as if daring her to get on with it or go back to bed like a good girl. That damned smug look of his made her angry and her conviction steeled as she smiled back at him. Sansa ran her hands along his thighs slowly. She remembered how he trailed his fingers on the inside and how it burned. She copied the action and when the tips of her fingers skirted his manhood, he flinched with a sharp intake of breath. When Sansa caught his eyes, his expression had changed dramatically.

She didn’t touch him there, not yet, she told herself. _Wait_. Sansa leaned forward and unlaced his tunic exposing just enough skin. She lightly kissed down his abdomen reaching his navel. His muscles contracted and breathing increased. She glanced up and his eyes were black with lust watching her every move. Never breaking eye contact, she gently unlaced his breeches releasing him. She could feel him hard against her bosom and she was nervous to look down at it, this part of a man that either hurt or gave women such pleasure. She lightly ran her hand down the length of him and she could hear a harsh breath. The skin was like silk it was so soft as she touched him. She didn’t see what he looked like that night but she remembered how he felt in her hand. An image of Tyrion on their wedding night popped into her head. Petyr certainly wasn’t a dwarf when she finally looked down at him. For a man that wasn’t very tall or of broad body, he seemed to be fairly large. He hardened even more when she wrapped her hand around him and the thickness was shocking. _This_ had fit inside her. It had hurt but he the way he had her screaming his name towards the end justified the pain. Just thinking about it sent a jolt to her core.

Sansa lightly experimented with her hand stroking him. She heard him curse under his breath, and she wanted to hear him again. She found a slow rhythm thinking of how he felt inside her. Slow and controlled as her hand came to the tip and she felt moisture. It must be the same for men, she thought. When she pumped her hand down the skin folded back and she saw him fully. She didn’t know why she was fascinated by it all. The feel of him. The contrast of soft and hardness. She was learning him and it made her own desire build. The sounds he was making, the way he felt in her hand… it was very powerful indeed. That she could reduce him to coming undone like this. He wasn’t falling apart like she thought he would and then she remembered how good his mouth felt on her.

That must be the same as well. She tentatively kissed the tip. It was salty but not entirely unpleasant. She had tasted herself on Petyr’s lips and it wasn’t bad. He seemed to enjoy what he did to her and liked the taste of her. Tasting him seemed an easier task as when his finger was in her mouth. Yes, that what she needed to do she realized. She looked up again and Petyr’s eyes were glazed and waiting. He let her take her time but she could tell he was getting frustrated. He needed friction just like she did earlier.

Finally, she took him into her mouth and this time he moaned her name. It was the sweetest sound. She set a slow rhythm again and found this wasn’t difficult at all. Like his finger, she swirled her tongue around him all while keeping a firm grip with her hand. His breathing became harder as his fingers wound through the curls of her hair. Sansa thought she must be doing something right because his hips moved with the timing of her hand and she felt a slight pressure on her head.

Oh, she was enjoying doing this to him. He was at her mercy and she loved it. This was how she felt when he held her down and his mouth made her come. The thought alone was making her wanton and her own sex was demanding attention. She moaned and the vibration lit him on fire. His hips were becoming more insistent, he needed something more. She wasn’t sure what else she should do, she wasn’t experienced in this and knowing what men wanted. Should she ask him?

She thought back to what she did to his finger that had him so enticed that she innocently didn’t realize what the implication meant for him. She lowered her mouth as far as she could and he groaned deeply. Yes, that was it. He liked thrusting deep when he fucked her and a bit of roughness. She liked it too, so if it felt as good for her.

She worked on him a little harder and accidentally began sucking.

He hissed harshly, “ _Yes_ … that’s it.”

He gripped her hair a bit rougher and his breathing became shorter gasps. He was breaking underneath her and it was the most erotic thing to make someone come undone. Right when she thought he would come, he quickly stopped her. Petyr pulled her face to his and his roughly kissed her silencing her protest to finish what she started.

“You may have started this, but I’m going to finish it.”

With that, he hauled her up and sat her on his desk. Petyr hiked up her skirts and dipped his hand under her smallclothes. Sansa gasped knowing he would find her ready for him. He smiled wickedly and tore the fabric away and spreading her legs further apart. Her eyes were wide at how quickly the tables were turned. He meant to take her right here on his desk. Petyr grabbed her hips and roughly yanked her bottom to the edge of the desk where she was fully pressed against him. She still must have had a look of shock on her face because he grinned roguishly as he rocked his hardness against where he knew she really needed him to be. And this devil of a man used her own words against her.

“What? _Don’t you want me anymore?”_ When she didn’t answer, he kissed her again and breathed into her waiting mouth, _“Because I want this now…"_

Petyr took her arms and brought them around his neck bringing her flush against his body. She moaned as his tongue danced with hers and she felt him hook his arms under her knees aggressively opening her up to him. 

_“…And I’m fairly certain you fucking need this…_ ”

Before the words left his mouth, he thrust all the way to the hilt. He kept her quiet with his mouth devouring hers. It hurt because she was still so tight. But this time he didn’t ease her into it. This time, Petyr fucked her hard and with the position he had her in, all she could do was hold on to him. She couldn’t thrust back the way he held her open and like this, she felt every inch of him. If she weren’t already with child, Sansa was positive she would have been by tonight.

Petyr was roughly pounding into her as if he could not get enough of her. The sweat on the back of his neck from the exertion and hearing him grunt with lust as he kissed her. She felt herself clenching him, and she knew she was close. She whispered his name and when his cock hit a certain angle she cried out.

  
“Shhh… we need to be quiet,” he commanded without losing a beat.

She held on tighter and willed herself to be silent, but oh he was so good. She was going to come hard and she couldn’t keep still. Sansa buried her face into his neck and practically screamed biting into his skin. Her walls clamped down hard on him and he hissed in her ear, “Oh gods yes, that’s it… _come for me_.” Hearing him say it made another wave crash into her and she could feel herself pulse around him again. “ _Oh fuck…_ “ He drove into her again and again and then his whole body tensed and she felt him spill inside of her.

Sansa held him close as she came down. She tasted the saltiness of his skin and something else, something metallic. She pulled her mouth away and looked in dull horror. She bit him. She bit him hard enough to draw his blood. She felt him ease her shaking legs down to the desk and suddenly she was embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

Petyr tilted her chin up and kissed her. His tongue touched the bottom of her lip tasting his own blood. He looked near his collarbone to survey the damage and chuckled to himself, “I daresay that’s a scar I’m proud to have.” He raised his eyebrows and tried to meet her eyes. She finally dared to look at him only to find gentle mirth staring back at her. He kissed her lightly and teased, “Don’t worry, _I’ll live_.”

He pulled out and turned around apparently adjusting himself back into his clothing. Sansa pushed down her skirts as her euphoria was short-lived. Sex with him was wonderful, but now he was so distant. She did start it. She seduced him and it didn’t turn out as she expected. It felt more like he let her do it and then gave her what she was craving. That first night, he was gentle before and after. He held her in his arms until they fell asleep. As much as she wanted him, she felt more like a whore tonight. There was no denying he desired her, enjoyed her boldness and gave her intense pleasure in return… but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was just giving her what she thought she wanted. She needed to be fucked tonight and he gave it to her and then some.

Sansa slowly righted her dress and began fastening the ties on her bodice as Petyr walked over to a mirror on the wall behind them. She saw his reflection smirk as he inspected the mark she left on him. Adjusting his tunic to cover it, he caught her staring at him through the mirror and she averted her eyes. He turned around and studied her for a moment. For some reason, she couldn’t meet his eyes as he stared at her sitting on his desk.

Petyr walked back and stood in front her tilting her chin forcing her to look at him. He kissed her softly, “What’s wrong?” He breathed against her lips that didn’t kiss him back, “Is that not what you wanted?”

Her eyes flared and she pushed him away. Damn him! How can you love and equally hate someone so much?

He smiled and kissed her forehead, “My mistake, I was under the impression you were enjoying yourself immensely.”

She heard the crack before she even realized she slapped him so hard it whipped his head back. When he looked at her, she had effectively knocked that grin off his face. His grey-green eyes were stony in their gaze.

“Well… I think it’s about time you went to bed. You’re obviously tired, my lady.”

She went to hit him again but this time he caught her hand.

“You’re overwrought, and for the sake of the child, you should take care.” The tone in his voice and the hardness about his eyes was warning her not to press him further.

“Of course, my lord. We must think of the child, _mustn’t we_?”


	15. Firelight

It was barely daybreak when Sansa bent over the basin on her dressing table feeling sick again. There was nothing in her stomach this early in the morning to empty but the urge to retch wouldn’t stop. If this is what she had to look forward to for months, Sansa wasn’t so sure she had the will to go through with it. Her mother was terribly ill with Bran for almost the length of her pregnancy. Unlike her mother, Sansa didn’t have the support of a loving family and friends to see her through it.

Sansa was so frightened and shocked to learn she was with child only yesterday. She lied to save herself and Petyr and named Ramsay the father. She had hoped that Petyr would have been more supportive or perhaps even happy. Sadly, he wanted nothing to do with it, though he tried to word it with more sensitivity. She told him she loved him and felt him still in her arms. He never said it back and told her that he didn’t want her to love him at all.

Perhaps sex was all he ever really wanted from her. That first night, she felt as though something good might have come from all this death and deception; that she had found a partner, a lover and a husband in Petyr. Maybe she could find happiness with him. There was a certain kind of respect and trust between them. Maybe there wouldn’t love like in her childhood stories, but there could be some kind of contentment. But more and more she was falling in love with him and little by little he was pulling away.

The last fortnight he slept in his own chamber and no longer showed her the affection she had become so accustomed to. Not only in front of others but in private as well. Sansa didn’t know what to think. Her emotions ran so topsy turvy lately that it made her into an unpredictable mess. Now she knew why.

Petyr played the part for Stannis and his people to solidify the lie and protect each other, but once in her bedchamber, all she saw in his eyes was sorrow and regret. He regretted making love to her, getting her with child, binding her to him. Yes, he told her she would marry him, but even that was put on hold long before the discovery of the child. Beforehand he had more freedom to play his game, now a child held restrictions and demanded responsibility.

Then there was last night. What had possessed her to seduce him… or was it the other way around? They did want each other, didn’t they? That kind of passion couldn’t be an invention. She looked at her hand and remembered the sting when she struck him. _The look in his eyes …_ Gods, he had never looked at her like that before. The last time she saw that in his eyes is when he pushed Lysa to her death.

Sansa had never felt truly alone until this moment. She pitied Aunt Lysa in a way. She loved a man that never loved her and was only using her. She loved him for so long and blindly. She could understand how those emotions could drive one mad. Petyr said Lysa disgusted him and yet he still bedded her and made her believe he loved her all that time.

Unlike with Lysa, Petyr never attempted to calm Sansa with words of love. He didn’t pretend to be the loving, doting husband. She told him not to lie to her, and when he told the truth, she was heartbroken and angry. Sansa didn’t know what she really wanted anymore. She had Winterfell but it wasn’t enough. Why couldn’t someone just want her for her? Not her name, lands or titles… just Sansa. For the first time, Petyr was making her feel like she was loved. He said she was his everything. If she was, why was he pushing her away now? Sansa just didn’t understand him.

_Sometimes the best way to baffle them is to make moves that have no purpose or even seem to work against you._

It was clear he still needed her and Winterfell in his grand plans, but now she was a problem because of this child. Gods, she didn’t know what was a lie or the truth anymore. She didn’t want to be Aunt Lysa. The thought scared her to death. She didn’t want to pine for a man that didn’t love her, raise his child and live in bitter solitude. This child would only be a reminder that Petyr didn’t love her, he was only using her to further the game.

Today, she would see the red woman, Melisandre, but not for the reasons she had originally planned.

The morning passed by quickly and Sansa didn’t break her fast downstairs; instead, she stayed in her bedchamber. Her handmaiden was given instructions to give her lady’s apologies to her guests because she wasn’t feeling well. Sansa was adjusting her dress when she heard footsteps just outside her door. She waited with bated breath for several moments as they paced and then surprisingly walked away.

Sansa waited a while longer and peered outside her door. She was hoping she wouldn’t run into Petyr right now. She didn’t want to see him. Not yet anyhow. Sansa made her way down the stairs listening for his voice or any indication he was nearby. Quietly, she travelled down the south wing with a heavy heart. Sansa felt as though Melisandre could see through her, know her secrets. She needed to be careful about what she revealed and what she wanted to know from this woman.

The door to uncertainty was before her and Sansa gently rapped on it. “Come in, Lady Stark,” echoed the serene voice inside. Opening the door, the heavy scent of oils, incense and burning fire filled her senses. Sansa walked in and felt as if she had entered the lair of a sorceress. It was rather dark and in the middle of the room was a pedestal of flames that burned a curious colour and the red woman stood next to it.

Melisandre was a very beautiful woman, Sansa noted. She could probably enchant any man by a whim. Everything about her was seductive, mysterious and dangerous. Sansa froze in the doorway, not sure if she made a mistake by coming here. “You have nothing to fear from me, child. Close the door.” Melisandre smiled and it was a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. It was something she didn’t fear from Petyr, but this woman made her nervous.

There was no turning back now and Sansa closed the door. “Come closer, don’t be afraid,“ she cooed. Sansa slowly made her way and saw two chairs next to the flames. “Sit, my dear, and we’ll talk.”

  
Sansa sat and tried to remain calm. Be fragile, be that wronged girl, she told herself. The priestess sat in the adjacent chair and looked her over.

“He cares for you, your Lord Protector. More than he should.” Sansa’s eyes widened. This was not was she was prepared to hear. Did she really see right through their lies? Sansa stilled and thought she should continue to play the innocent.

“Lord Baelish? He’s a childhood friend of my mother. He’s been kind to help me. He was trying to get me to her… but then she and my brother were murdered and I had no one else to turn to.” Mix lies with the truth, Petyr always said, and don’t weave too detailed a web that you cannot escape.

Melisandre smiled, “You are young and innocent and do not understand the desires of men. They underestimate us women so often. We are not inferior or weak unless we let ourselves be so. You are strong; you protected yourself from many evil men and have come back to your home where you belong. Don’t be naïve that those around you are pure of heart.”

Sansa was becoming more nervous by the second and suddenly she couldn't stop the flow of excuses coming out of her mouth.

“He – he cared deeply for my mother. He was like a brother, she told me once. I look like her. I think he just sees her in me, that’s all. He was my only friend. He has never hurt me. He married my aunt and is just sad since her death. I’m the only family he has… and he, now that’s he’s my uncle, is my only family. I was stupid for ever wanting to go to King’s Landing. Had I known… “ Sansa looked down at her lap and tried to play the part of a simple girl that didn't know any better hoping this woman would only think of her as naive. But what of Petyr? Did she really suspect him as more than they claimed?

“Had you not left your home, you would have been dead. The Lord of Light had a plan for you. You needed to suffer, to learn, to be cleansed of the evil that has spread across this land. Don’t worry, soon Stannis will take King’s Landing and the throne and light will shine once again in all of Westeros.” Melisandre took Sansa’s hand and lightly stroked it from the wrist to her fingertips. Sansa tried to keep calm and not give anything away.

_Please, don't ask me if it's Petyr's child, I don't know if I can lie convincingly._

“I hope so, my Lady. I would be happy to see that. I hope the Lannister’s burn for all the terrible things they have done.” Sansa looked up with a shock that she voiced such a thing to someone she didn’t know. “My Lady, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t say such things… “

“Don’t fret, the Lord of Light will punish those that stand against him. Believe in him, and the darkness will not swallow you. Do you believe me?” Melisandre stared deep into Sansa’s eyes.

“I would like to, my Lady. Yes. I admit, I prayed to the Seven and felt they never heard my prayers to help my family or me… and now…“

“And now you have been raped and carry a child you do not want from a _dead_ husband.” The red woman finished for her with a strange glare in her eyes.

Sansa numbly nodded her head. “Does that make me a monster, that I do not want it? I know it’s an innocent, but what he did to me… was so awful. I don’t know if I can bear bringing it into this world. I’m afraid it will be just like him… “ She began to cry for there was much truth in this. She honestly didn’t know now if she wanted to have this baby anymore. Sansa was not as strong as she thought she was. Alone in the North during a winter, with a new child was a future that was she was beginning to dread.

“Sssh, child…” Melisandre combed her fingers through Sansa’s hair. “You carry a burden but let’s see if this is something you truly do not want.”

“What do you mean?” Sansa looked up with a tear-streaked face.

“We shall look into the flames. Let the Lord of Light guide you… “ Melisandre pulled a small knife and Sansa’s heart raced as she grabbed her hand and cut her palm.

“What are you doing?” Sansa panicked.

“Blood is needed. Now lift your hand over the flames.” Sansa had no choice, she did as she was told and held her injured hand over the pedestal as her blood dripped into the fire.

Melissandre’s eyes glazed as she stared into the flames and Sansa wasn’t sure what would happen. She was frozen in fear and could only sit and watch. The flames flickered and the scent of burning blood made her sick. She could see the flames glow in the priestess' eyes. Suddenly her voice dropped an octave, it was no longer that honeyed tone that gave her chills. This was something otherworldly and it struck a chord of fear in Sansa's belly that she couldn't move if she tried.

_“Winter approaches… with men made of ice and snow.”_

Sansa tried to pull her hand away but the red woman grasped it and held tight over the growing heat of the flames.

_“Birds are singing the wolf’s song… and a child will come… a child black of hair and blue eyes… but death comes with it… and you will never have another…”_

“My hand, it burns… _please_ ” The flames were licking her skin as the flames grew higher.

Melissandre’s eyes turned almost black and turned on Sansa. _“Beware the man in black… he will destroy what you hold most precious.”_

Just as quick, Melisandre released Sansa’s hand. Sansa’s hand was burning in pain as she yanked back from the flames. She turned it over and strangely the cut was cauterized but her skin had a burn as if she stuck her hand in boiling water. The priestess stood as if nothing happened and went to a table that held many bottles.

“Stay seated, I will fix a salve for your hand, my lady.” It was more of a command than a gesture, Sansa thought fearfully but didn’t move. “I will make you a vial that will abort this child. Take it soon and the pain will be lessened. Wait, and you will suffer greatly.”

Sansa couldn’t catch her breath. Her hand was searing in pain while she tried to make sense of what just happened.

_A child… death… beware the man in black..._

“Here, wrap your hand with this and it will heal in a few days.” Melisandre gave Sansa a small jar of a foul-smelling ointment. “Oil of the dragon, very rare.” She coated Sansa’s hand and wrapped it with a clean bandage and returned to her apothecary and began filling a vial with several liquids.

“Why are you helping me, my Lady?” Sansa honestly wondered.

“Stannis needs you in the North. You need to be strong and do what is needed. This child has death surrounding it. It would be best to be rid of it now.” She supplied without any emotion. It seemed everyone wanted this child dead. Sansa was feeling sick all over again.

“You said I would never have another…” Sansa said dully.

“You will only bear one child, my girl. You can choose to live long and be barren the rest of your days or give birth and watch everything go to ruin.”

“But what if you’re wrong… “ Sansa couldn’t help but contest this dire future. Surely, she didn’t go through all of this just to have more pain and suffering come upon her.

“The Lord of Light is never wrong… my visions are never wrong. He has set a path for you, young Stark and you can choose the light or wallow in darkness.” Melisandre handed Sansa a vial with a putrid coloured liquid. With a shaking hand, she took the vial gingerly as if it would bite her.

“You have come to me, so you have come to the Light. I can only lead you in the right direction, child. It is your choice which path you will follow. The babe is encircled by darkness. Be done with it. The Lord of Light is showing you the way.” Melisandre gazed at her and all Sansa could do was nod in understanding.

Sansa stood and tucked the vial away in a pocket inside her skirts and faced the red woman, “Thank you, my lady, for your counsel. I’m in your debt.” She tried to smile but despair overwhelmed her and it showed.

“We are all living in hell, child. We are all suffering. Choosing the Light is the only way out. Rid yourself of this deadly burden and your heart will be lifted.” The sickly sweet tone of her voice filled Sansa with dread. She needed fresh air, she needed out of this room and the vicinity of this woman.

“I will. Thank you once more.” Sansa lowered her head in submission and left as quietly as she came. As she closed the door, she saw Stannis coming towards her and she bowed, “Your Grace.”

“Lady Stark, what are you doing here,” Stannis said curtly.

“Pardon, Your Grace, I was only seeking advice from the lady Melisandre in regards to the child,” Sansa offered meekly.

“And what was her advice?” He said with a suspicious tone.

Sansa thought for a moment, “That it would be a difficult decision to keep or be rid of it. It is a Bolton and I feel despoiled by it all.” She lightly sobbed trying to appeal to his fatherly nature. He loved Shireen and she couldn’t imagine he’d want her to go through such an ordeal.

She could see Stannis was mulling it over. “My lady, I wouldn’t wish such a thing upon my daughter, I would be monstrous to judge you. It is your decision either way.” He moved passed her to Melisandre’s door and turned around briefly, “Lady Sansa, when you see Lord Baelish, tell him I wish to see him privately as soon as possible.”

Sansa curtsied, “Of course, Your Grace.” Stannis entered the room without knocking and Sansa wondered what relationship he had with the red woman. She wished that they would just leave. Take their army and bannermen and go to King’s Landing and let the North be. Let _her_ be.

Sansa needed fresh air. She quickly made her way outside to the courtyard to breathe. She thanked the gods that no one was outside at the moment. She could be alone if only for a moment to right herself. At first, the brisk air was refreshing compared to the heavy heat in Melisandre’s room. But suddenly the contrast was too much and she felt dizzy. Everything was too much as it really hit her all at once. This time Petyr wasn’t there to catch her as she fell.


	16. The Ladder

“MY LORD! MY LORD!”

Petyr’s head shot up at the yelling coming from somewhere below. Without putting on his doublet, he ran out of his solar and could still hear the tumult as he came to look over the balcony next to the stairs. One of his Vale captains held the body of a half-frozen, limp woman in his arms.

_Sansa!_

Petyr flew down the stairs. “What happened?” he roared. Reaching the captain, he saw that Sansa was completely unconscious as her head hung back lifelessly. Her skin was icy to the touch and her hair and clothes damp with snow.

The captain stuttered, “We found her like this in the courtyard, m’lord. I’m not sure how long she was out there…”

“Where were the guards? You mean to tell me no one saw her and she lay out in the freezing cold!” Petyr’s cool temper was about to break.

“That’s just it, m’lord. It’s freezing outside today. All the merchants and workers were inside to get warm and eat. I’ll find out who wasn’t at their post…”

Suddenly, the foyer was filling with curious eyes at the drama unfolding. Petyr saw the head housekeeper peering from the door that led to the kitchens. “Prepare a hot bath,” he commanded her and then turned back to his captain. “Give her to me.”

Petyr lifted her limp body in his arms. She was so light and ice-cold that intense fear washed over him. He saw Stannis, his wife and the little princess enter the foyer confused to what the commotion was about. Stannis looked at Petyr holding Sansa and hurried over.

“What happened to her?” Stannis demanded.

“I don’t know, Your Grace. She has only just been found outside like this. We need to get her warm…” Petyr didn’t wait for a reply and rushed up the stairs.

He kicked open her door and entered her room. Thankfully it was warm with a roaring fire. Petyr laid her back and head gently down on her bed while his free hand pulled the bedclothes and furs away. Tucking her legs under, he pulled the covers up to her chin. Her breathing was shallow but at least she was breathing.

Petyr leaned down to her ear. “Sansa… _sweetling_ , can you hear me?” He kissed her frozen cheek and cupped the back of her neck raising her head, willing her to hear him. “Open your eyes, love.”

Suddenly, he could feel a lump at the edge of his fingertips. Petyr felt around the injury. She must have struck her head, but the question was how hard. Or even worse, someone hit her from behind and left her in the snow. Strange that no guards were present, he thought. A combination of unconsciousness and laying in the freezing cold, she may not wake at all. Damnit! It was just one obstacle after another, Petyr thought. He reached for her hand under the blanket and felt something odd. He softly pulled her hand out looking at the bandage that wrapped it. Gingerly, he unbound the fabric and covered his mouth at what he saw. Her hand was burnt, red and blistering. He inspected it and saw the cut on her palm.

_What in the seven hells was this?_

He heard female voices and footsteps and as soon as they entered the room, Petyr had already moved a respectable distance away from Sansa. He was her concerned uncle after all but it was still best not to raise suspicion.

Petyr bowed his head in acknowledgement to Selyse, “My Queen, she is ice cold, I believe a hot bath will help warm her faster than blankets, she has… “

“Lord Baelish, we’ll take over from here. I have my maester to see to her condition.”

Selyse pushed passed him to Sansa’s bed. He knew he couldn’t challenge her and walked helplessly to the door. The maester, housekeeper and two servant girls busied themselves. Petyr stood there and watched until Selyse glared at him and marched over closing the door in his face.

Petyr didn’t realize he started pacing outside her door until a small hand touched his. Shireen, Stannis’ daughter, stood staring at him with a sad smile.

“Will Lady Sansa be alright?”

“I don’t know,” he said truthfully and returned the same melancholy smile. He remembered that she seemed to genuinely like Sansa and vice versa. He was so worried, he didn’t even care he showed it right now.

“You care for her, don’t you?” Petyr only stared at her and didn’t acknowledge her correct perception of him. “It’s alright, I won’t say anything. I know how it feels to be judged and be ashamed of,” she said sadly.

Petyr could only imagine what life this poor girl had. Suffering grayscale at such a young age with a mother that clearly showed nothing but disdain for her, and an emotionless and ambitious father who only saw a crown. Add to it, that red woman. Petyr still wondered what role she played with Stannis. Whatever else, this girl felt like an outsider in her own family. Petyr looked to Sansa's door. He didn't like that this Queen was caring for his little mockingbird.

“I know my mother, she won’t let you in.” Shireen squeezed his hand and released it, and whispered to him, “ _I’ll watch her for you._ ” With a sweet smile, she opened the door to Sansa’s chamber and closed it just as quickly.

Petyr knew nothing would come of holding a vigil in front of her door other than bringing more attention to him, something he would rather avoid. He returned to his solar and did the only thing he could do… wait.

He couldn't even focus on the paperwork before him. Petyr's thought circled around the girl that made his world hell. He poured himself a glass of wine and stared out the window. It was snowing. He had not seen a snowfall such as this in years. It had a certain calming effect but that could be the wine, he thought. Petyr leaned his head upon the chair and willed himself not to think of her. But all he could see was her pale face and the horrible burn on her hand.

_How in the gods did she manage that?_

Petyr remembered last night that she had approached this Melisandre about a meeting. He overheard enough to know that it was to be some time today. Did she do something to Sansa? He couldn't imagine Sansa slicing and burning her own hand. What would have possessed her to go outside in this dreadful cold underdressed? Petyr had so many questions and no answers. Sansa wasn't able to tell him what happened. Perhaps she wouldn't after last night. Petyr touched his cheek where she had struck him. It took him so off guard, he wasn't sure how to react. He would never in his life hit her, but at that moment he was completely stunned with anger.

Gods, what did she expect? She seduced him, took him in her mouth and drove him to the point of madness. He couldn't have resisted fucking her even if he wanted to. Then suddenly, he felt like he had practically raped her on his desk not even bothering to be gentle about it. She did moan his name and screamed into his skin as he made her come again and again. This lust between them was too much and it was an addictive thing. He never wanted a woman as he wanted her.

Now all he could see was an image of her laying in the snow after someone struck her in the back the head. Or perhaps she fainted and hit it when she fell. Why would she have fainted out in the bitter cold? None of this made any sense.

It wasn’t long before Stannis entered without knocking. King or not, Petyr always found this arrogance rude. Petyr returned his quill to the ink well and focused his attention on the king. There were only two reasons Stannis would seek him out rather than summon him. There was a major change in plans, or Sansa was…

_No. He wouldn’t think of that._

Petyr put on his mask and took a drink of wine as he observed Stannis observing him as he casually strolled around his solar.

“I remember how well Jon Arryn praised your abilities before he sent you to Kings Landing. He said you increased revenues substantially in Gulltown and made the Vale quite profitable. I expect the Vale is very prosperous even now that you are Lord Protector, which will be of great value to me.” Stannis never took his eyes off him as if trying to figure him out.

“I did what I could for the late Lord of the Vale. I cannot deny that Jon sending me to Kings Landing to become Master of Coin wasn’t something I took advantage of. I was there to support him and your brother.” Petyr kept his demeanour cool and let Stannis take the lead, curious at where this conversation was headed.

“As in the Vale, you increased the gold for the crown and ran the city quite well. So well, you were appointed to the Small Council and trusted with handling many affairs.” Stannis took a seat in front of Petyr’s desk and regarded him with quiet intensity.

Petyr smiled to himself. Stannis wasn’t that well informed because this Master of Coin single-handedly bankrupted the crown to bring it down all the while making himself the richest man in Westeros.

“In my position, a man with no great house, wealth or prospects… well, I had to make my way. I hope you don’t begrudge me that coming from nothing.” Petyr would play along with this game.

“Your father was nothing short of a hedge knight, if I recall,” Stannis smiled.

“And he had a son that couldn’t swing a sword if he tried. Brandon Stark proved that. My only option seemed to be what I ended up being very good at. Making money. Those in my position don’t have a great house to depend on. Men, such as myself, will never attain high status or a crown. That doesn’t mean we aren’t exceptionally useful to a man that _is_.” Petyr relaxed in his chair and waited for what this was really about. Sansa wasn’t dead, or he would have said it by now.

“You are a high lord now, with the acquisition of Harrenhal and even more so with regency over the Vale,” Stannis challenged.

“Your Grace, let’s be honest. Even with Harrenhal, no one of power looks at me as a high lord of any significance. It was in title only, just because the Lannisters were foolish enough to believe I supported them. Again, I won’t deny that a lordship isn’t satisfying considering where I came from. But it was all for only two purposes. One, that I could marry my long-time love, Lysa Arryn and second, to save Sansa Stark. Getting her to the Vale was her best option to survive after Joffery’s death considering Cersei was idiotic enough to blame her as well because she was wife to Tyrion. Having that title helped me leave Kings Landing once and for all and save the last remaining Stark. It was the least I could do for her mother.” Petyr paused and gauged his reaction.

“All in all I think everything has worked out very well for both of us. Sadly, even though my ladywife is dead, I can raise her son to be a strong lord and support the rightful king. Lysa was wrong for staying out of the fray for so long. She should have supported you, and now her son will. Defeating the Boltons gives you full support of the North. With three strong allies, there nothing else that keeps you from taking the throne.”

Stannis gave a slight smile. “And are you able to keep control of the Vale while you are here in Winterfell? Harrenhal doesn’t exactly have the bannermen it once commanded.”

“True, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have the right people in the right places. Even now in Kings Landing, I hear Cersei is self-destructing and with every poor decision, she comes closer to losing her head along with her son. I learnt much from my time in Kings Landing. Such knowledge I would think would be beneficial to the right man. Such as, Cersei has armed the Faith Militant and made their leader, a man they call the High Sparrow, High Septon. They have essentially taken control of the city and causing havoc among the people. Your people are fleeing right and left from the capital.”

Petyr poured another glass of wine for himself and offered one to Stannis. This might be easier than he thought. “After taking the Iron Islands, with the North behind you, you can march on Kings Landing offering the new faith. One that protects rather than harms as they are experiencing now. Showing what a merciful king is with a bright new faith with him. I would think the people would rally behind you instantly. The more Cersei tries to rule, the easier it will be for you to take the throne and bring them all down. The Tyrells are already distraught at Lannister leadership. Now that Tywin is dead, it is chaos. It won’t be long before the Tyrells try to take the throne with their wealth. Westeros deserves a better ruler than those two houses. The only king fit to rule is you.”

Petyr knew he convinced him by the look on Stannis’ face. He was a proud man and making him the saviour of Westeros is exactly what he needed to hear.

“I am your servant, Your Grace. If you wish me to help you in any way, I will. If you wish to take my lordship away, there’s nothing I can do to stop you. I have nothing that threatens you now or after you take the throne. The only thing I ever wanted was to be my own man in this world. I can go back to Kings Landing, Gulltown or even Braavos as a merchant and live well. If you decide to keep me as the Lord of Harrenhal, you will have a strong ally in me. I have regency now as young Robert Arryn is under my tutelage and with the strength of the Vale, which is untouched by war and poverty, I will have Robert properly trained to be Lord of the Vale and your unwavering supporter. And Lady Sansa…”

“Yes, Lady Sansa. She is actually what I wanted to speak to you about,” Stannis said calmly drinking his wine. Petyr almost held his breath.

“How is she? I haven’t been told anything as of yet. The last I knew, your wife and maester were tending to her injuries.” Petyr probed carefully.

“She is still unconscious, my maester tells me. She must have struck her head. He is confident there is no harm to the child, but time will tell. She has a touch of fever due to being exposed to the cold for so long it seems. If she loses the child, I doubt it will be a grievous affair. I saw her briefly before when she must have gone outside. She was distressed about having the child considering whose it is. It’s not as though a Bolton child is of any consequence now they’re all dead if she chose to keep it, but…”

_Here it comes, just as he thought._

“Lord Baelish, it would be best that she does not have this child. Perhaps, you could convince her. I must say, I was impressed that she had the strength, along with your direction, to defeat a family such as the Boltons. But now that she is with child, I worry about her stability as Wardeness of the North. She will be easy prey. A young, naïve, pregnant girl with a child she doesn’t want. I need someone strong to run Winterfell.”

“What are you offering, Your Grace?” Petyr knew the answer before Stannis ever needed to say it.

“I’ve decided to trust you, for now, Lord Baelish. Perhaps I was wrong about you years ago. However, you seemed to have proved yourself as quite indispensable. You’re here and yet you imply to have good control of the Vale, you disposed of the Boltons to my advantage, and I might add Lady Sansa appears rather dependent on you as well. I don’t believe she is quite ready to handle what needs to be done in the North, but you are. That is the kind of man I need right now. After I take the Iron Islands and travel to the Vale for your promised reinforcements, if I find you have deceived me, I will take your head. Prove yourself loyal to me, and when I am crowned, you will find me generous, indeed. Lady Sansa will remain the Lady of Winterfell and retain her lands and rights. The North will be more loyal to a Stark than a new lord they do not know. If she accepts you to help her and rallies her bannermen to my cause, she will be Wardeness of the North _after_ I take the Iron Throne.”

Petyr smiled to himself, this was working out better than he had planned.

“Lord Petyr Baelish, as of today, you are Warden of the North and Lord Protector of Winterfell.”


	17. Prophecy

Snow was falling and the delicate flakes touched her face. The Godswood was frosted over like a winter wonderland. It was peaceful as she glided through her sanctuary. It was bitterly cold but she felt warm almost as hot as a summer day. She could feel the soft crunch of snow beneath her feet and hear the water rolling over stones in the stream…

Birds were chirping but it wasn’t a springtime song. The sweet music echoed from the trees to the snow-covered ground and all around her in a whirlwind. In the distance, a howl could be heard, the soft wail of a wolf’s pup. Suddenly, one bird howled and then another and another when all at once the chirping turned into a choir of howls.

She turned around at the sound and looked down. A little girl with flowing black hair, rosy skin and bright blue eyes smiled up at her. The girl giggled and held her arms up to Sansa begging to be picked up.

“Mummy…” Sansa wasn’t sure if it was the girl’s voice or her own.

The child was light as a feather and Sansa stared into her eyes feeling as though she were gazing in a mirror. It was her face and mother’s eyes only with beautiful black curls flowing down her back.

“You have a fever, my dear,” the girl giggled sweetly touching Sansa’s face. The girl had a smile that reminded her of someone.

Sansa looked around her, as the Godswood was growing dark. “Where am I?” she whispered.

“You’re home, child.”

That impatient tone wasn’t the voice of a child. Sansa looked down and in her arms lay the girl… lifeless. “The child… “ Sansa’s voice was panicked, “It’s dead… she's _dead_.”

Darkness overshadowed the Godswood and Sansa felt herself slip into the void.

* * *

The flames flickered and danced and Sansa was burning. Her whole body was on fire. She lifted her hand and it was on fire as blood dripped down her arm and onto her round belly heavy with child.

“Oh, _sweetling_ …what happened to you?”

She looked up and Petyr was standing before her with a grief-stricken face. She wanted to hold him but her body wouldn’t move. She could feel his gentle touch on her face. His hand was cold but soothing.

“Speak to me… “ His voice begged tenderly.

She tried to answer but she had no voice. He was drifting away and she needed him to come back. The woods were dark and she was alone and afraid. Sansa ran into the thickets. She was searching for something but couldn’t see through the dense trees. Her eyes were straining at a hint of light in the distance. A black-cloaked figure was moving and she couldn’t catch it.

“Petyr… “ She heard a voice that sounded like her own echo his name.

“Did you say something, Lady Sansa?” A sweet, little voice answered from the trees. Sansa could feel heavy blankets on her body. Her hand reached out for something or someone.

“Come back…” her raspy voice whispered.

A small hand took hers gently and Sansa opened her eyes a bit but everything appeared hazy in the dim light. The same dark-haired girl was leaning over her smiling. _She’s not dead._ Sansa blinked her eyes trying to focus and the girl vanished. Holding her hand was the little princess, Shireen. She tried to speak but her throat was completely dry.

“It’s all right Lady Sansa. It’s all right now.” Shireen dabbed her face with a cool cloth. Sansa’s eyes searched the softly lit room. They were alone. She wanted Petyr. She wanted him desperately.

As if reading her mind, Shireen placed the cool cloth on her forehead. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move, I’ll bring him to you.”

The girl smiled and left the room quickly being very quiet as not to attract attention. Sansa was exhausted, her body was drained and she could scarcely move. She was sweating terribly and the pungent scent of medicines filled the air. She lay her head down and started to drift again when she heard the door open and turned her head. A cloaked, dark shadow was against the light in the doorway.

It moved toward her and it wasn’t until it was sitting close to her on the bed did she realize it was Petyr. She heard the door close, as he caressed her warm face and pushed back strands of damp hair. Sansa tried to sit up and Petyr gently pushed her down.

“No, lie back.” His voice was soothing and his eyes were full of tenderness. “You need rest.”

Her mouth was so dry, that when she tried to speak only a raspy whisper emerged, “Water.”

Petyr moved to the table where a pitcher with a small basin of freshwater stood. She could hear him pouring a goblet as she looked around the room. The fire was bright and the room warm. The windows were encrusted in frost and she could barely see that it was snowing outside. How long was she asleep? Petyr was ringing out a damp cloth in the basin and she realized they were alone.

He returned to her bedside and set the cloth aside. Pulling her up with his arm under her neck, he brought the goblet to her lips. “Sip this.” The water was cold and refreshing. She didn’t know how thirsty she was until she started taking gulps with her hand on the goblet.

“Easy… sip it,” he commanded softly.

Sansa couldn’t stop, her throat was on fire and the water was quenching it. Petyr took the goblet away and set it on the small table next to her bed with his other arm still around her neck. They were so close now she slid her arms around him holding him weakly. Petyr leaned his cheek against the top of her head and stroked her damp hair. For the longest time, he held her to him in silence.

Her senses were coming back and she didn’t know what to say to him. Should she tell him of Melisandre’s divinations and the potion? Right now, he was gentle Petyr. He was holding her as if they had never spoken one word of anger to each other. As if she had never slapped him. But she did hit him and the hurt she felt crept its way back into her mind. She would tell him nothing.

Winter was coming and if the visions of the red woman held any bearing then she needed to regain her strength quickly. Sansa needed to make a decision and very soon. Keep the child and come what may or rid herself of this unnecessary hardship. Surely, Stannis would name her Wardeness of the North soon before he left Winterfell. Sansa was a summer child and never knew a true winter. She had heard tales from her father and kin about how harsh it was and now she was about to get a hard lesson in reality.

Petyr’s voice broke into her thoughts, “Tell me what happened, sweetling.” He still stroked her hair as she rested against his chest.

“I don’t know. I didn’t eat at all that day… What day is it?” She murmured.

“It’s been almost four days since you were found in the courtyard. Did someone do this to you?” Petyr wasn’t letting her sidestep him even in her feeble state. Did he think someone intentionally hurt and left her outside? She must have been out there for a spell if she was feverish for days. Sansa thought back, there wasn’t a soul outside that day. It was terribly cold but she needed to get out.

When she didn’t answer him, Petyr drew her back and looked into her eyes. “Sansa, who did this to you?”

“No one. I fainted. That’s all.” It was the truth after all but he didn’t believe her.

“Did _no one_ do this as well?” Petyr pulled her bandaged hand up between them his narrowing eyes never leaving hers. Sansa forgot about her hand. There was no pain and she didn’t even think about it until it was before her face.

“It’s nothing,” she lied and started to pull away from him. She was feeling exhausted again and wanted to lie down.

“I told you once before, you can lie to them all you like… _but not to me_.” There was growing anger coating his voice as he waited for her to answer him. “Did _she_ do this?”

Petyr didn’t need to say her name. Sansa knew exactly whom he was talking about. He knew she must have met with Melisandre but obviously he hadn’t spoken to the woman. Sansa knew he would not have lest bring unwanted attention to their relationship.

_Mix lies with the truth._

“Since she was the one that announced I was pregnant, I thought it would be best to meet with her about it and not avoid her to evade suspicion. She wanted to know if I wanted to get rid of it since I obviously didn’t want to have a child sired by rape from a Bolton.” She dared a glance at Petyr’s face. His jaw was set and his lips were pressed into a thin line as he listened intently.

“I told her I didn’t know what I wanted. She said she could foretell events to come and sliced my hand because she needed my blood. I got scared and when I stood up, I tripped and my hand fell into this dias of fire in her room and... and I left.” Sansa gauged Petyr’s expression to see if he believed her story but he was unreadable. She lay back down on the pillows and closed her eyes to finish it.

“I think I ran into Stannis in the hallway and the next thing I knew, I was outside. Her room smelled strongly of incense and medicines. It was overly hot in there, that when I got to the courtyard… it was so cold and I was dizzy… I – I don’t remember anything after that.”

Sansa took a deep breath and looked at Petyr. He was observing her and weighing her tale for honesty. By his grim face and unreadable emotions, she couldn’t tell if he believed her or not.

“You didn’t eat or drink anything from her hand that day?”

Sansa suddenly thought of the potion that she put in the pocket of her dress. No one seemed to know about it, or Petyr would have questioned her specifically. Maybe it broke or it was still hiding in the folds of her skirt. Would they, _would Petyr_ , have thought she tried to poison herself? He didn’t know and that was the only important thing.

“No,” Sansa answered. Petyr gave her a doubtful look raising one eyebrow. “I promise you, I drank _nothing_. I told you I hadn’t eaten that day either. Most likely why I fainted,” she implored him.

Petyr didn’t seem entirely satisfied with her answer but there was nothing else he could do but accept it whether it be lies or the truth. He sighed and sat back a little looking over her hand.

“It seems to be healing well enough. The Queen and her maester have been attending to you. Be sure to thank her properly." A gentleness came over his face, "The little princess has barely left your side. She is a kind girl. I rather like to think you were like her once.” Sansa felt Petyr spoke more to himself than to her. “Minus the greyscale and terrible mother, of course.” He smiled but it never reached his eyes as he gingerly touched her injured hand. Did she feel a hint of jealousy the way he spoke about Shireen? 

He brought her hand to his lips and lightly kissed her fingertips as he closed his eyes. A small sigh escaped those lips breathing upon her skin. Just as quickly as it happened, Petyr straightened and looked at her pointedly.

“They will be leaving very soon, perhaps as soon as a few days. Stannis is going to make his way to the Iron Islands and needs to leave before the snows keep him in the North for the winter. Once he defeats the Greyjoys, he will come to the Vale for reinforcements to march south and take Kings Landing. I will need to leave you here to return to the Vale and make preparations.” Petyr paused a moment and gauged her reaction. “I won’t leave unless I know you will be all right. I need you to get well for both our sakes.” Sansa noticed he mentioned nothing about the child. Not once since she woke. Her dream… the little girl… was it telling her the child was indeed dead?

“It’s been snowing since the day you collapsed and the roads will be treacherous. I could be gone for weeks, maybe even months,” Petyr continued on. “Our situation is precarious and we need to keep a stronghold on the North until Stannis either takes the Iron Throne or the Targaryen girl fights him for it in the south. The North needs to stay strong and ride out this winter. Once in the Vale, I’ll send more provisions to you…”

Sansa heard everything he said but it still didn’t fully register. “You’re leaving me here. Alone.” _Alone and with child… your child._ She could not even look at him. Instead, her hands grazed her abdomen. He was going to abandon her when she needed him most, unless…

“Is it _dead_?” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Petyr knew exactly what she was talking about. “I don’t know. The maester said he didn’t feel the fever was severe enough to cause a miscarriage, but it’s too early to tell.” Was that a hint of emotion in his voice? She couldn’t quite tell. She finally raised her eyes to meet his. Yes, there was a touch of sadness there. He couldn’t hide it, but his next words negated any pity she felt for him.

“I had hoped to have this conversation when you were more rested, but now seems as good a time as any.” Petyr seemed to be pondering on his words as he suddenly averted his eyes. “I should tell you, Stannis thinks it best that you abort the child if you haven’t miscarried already.”

Sansa swallowed hard and tried to remain calm. “He thinks… or _you_ think?”

“I think – it would be _easier_ for you here on your own. I worry about you being so vulnerable… if you were still with child. If I were not able to reach you in time… or cut off because of the heavy snows…” She could hear genuine fear and despair in his voice but she could not see his eyes. Was there truth in them?

Sansa could feel ice begin to freeze around her heart.“You’re not my husband; you shouldn’t have to concern yourself even if you are the father. You’re not the Lord of Winterfell after all. _This_ – it’s my decision, as you once said… I am not your responsibility.”

Petyr tilted her chin and forced her to look in his grey-green eyes. “Yes, you _are_.”

He seemed as though he was going to say more, but instead, he quietly stood up and without another word, left her room.

* * *

Another day passed and Sansa didn’t see Petyr at all. Shireen said he was working with her father for hours on end regarding plans for moving south. Sansa wasn’t allowed to leave her room at all and everything she needed was brought to her. The maester visited a couple of times to oversee her well-being but Petyr stayed away. She didn’t speak to Stannis again and his Queen only came once to visit. Satisfied Sansa was getting well, she didn’t return and instead sent her daughter.

Shireen was a welcome distraction. She reminded Sansa of when she was at that age. This girl was genuinely sweet and Sansa believed she didn’t have a treacherous bone in her body. She listened to the little princess talk about her home in Dragonstone and how much she clearly adored her father. She detailed their journey through the North and Castle Black. Sansa listened about how Jon was made Lord Commander and chose to honour his vows and stay with his men. That he was a good and honourable man. She said Lord Baelish was angry and distraught when Sansa’s body was found outside that terrible day. He had carried her to her room until the Queen practically kicked him out and stayed some time outside her door. Maybe some part of him really did care?

Sansa thought about what he had said. It was logical and rational. It would be harder to run Winterfell while having a child. So many _what if’s_ crossed her mind. Clearly, Stannis was thinking the same thing if Petyr was to be believed. Neither men thought she was strong enough to hold her own lands. A pregnant woman… _girl_ … was too weak and vulnerable. Sansa entertained her worst fears and still could not decide what to do.

Shireen had left to have the cooks prepare meals for them both in Sansa’s chamber. Sansa was becoming stronger and now having a moment of privacy she began looking around her wardrobe. She found the dress she had been wearing that day and searched through the folds of the skirt. Her hand felt a solid object. _The vial!_

Sansa pulled it from the hidden pocket. It wasn’t broken and evidently no one discovered it when undressing her. She looked the glass vial over. The liquid was the palest of blues and the stopper intact. It hadn’t leaked. What did Melisandre say?

_Take it soon and the pain will be lessened. Wait, and you will suffer greatly._

She wondered how long she had to decide. It wasn’t so much the pain Sansa was worried about but the permanence of her decision.

_You will never have another_

Sansa tried to recall what the red witch had said during her vision.

_Birds are singing the wolf’s song… and a child will come… a child black of hair and blue eyes… but death comes with it… and you will never have another…_

Her dream… the little girl with flowing black hair and her mother’s Tully blue eyes. Sansa closed her eyes and tried to remember. The girl looked like her but she could see Petyr too. His straight aristocratic nose… and his smile when she laughed…

Sansa suddenly heard voices outside her door. Male voices. She crept closer and put her ear to the slit between oak and stone. It was faint but she could hear Petyr’s soft dulcet tone and the other… was Stannis.

“I assure you, your Grace, I feel she is recovering quite well. As to the other matter, I did speak with her about it. It’s now a matter of time on whether she has already miscarried or as your maester suggests, she is still with child. Sooner or later, she will need to make a decision.”

“I’m surprised that she isn’t overjoyed with the idea. I assumed your powers of persuasion would have made this an easy task… that is your reputation. Regardless, I only need her namesake to rally her people. If she lives through the winter with or without a child, I will still give her family rights to her. If not, Winterfell is yours Lord Baelish. As I said before, Lady Sansa and the child are now your responsibility as Warden of the North and the new Lord Protector of Winterfell. Please me, and I may just make you the permanent Lord of the North. We’ll see once you and I meet again in the Vale.”

“Of course, your Grace.”

Sansa couldn’t breathe. Petyr? Lord Protector of Winterfell and Warden of the North? He said she would be the lady of her family lands again and Stannis would make her Wardeness. Stannis expected him to convince her to abort the child. He didn’t think she was capable of running her own house, let alone the North.

What about Petyr? Is this what he had planned all along? He was never going to make her Queen of the North. No, he was taking it for himself.

_I am not your responsibility._

_  
Yes, you are._

And weeks ago she was angry at the thought that Jon could have been the new Lord of Winterfell and she, his ward. Now, Petyr was her Protector and Warden. Once, she might have been happy at the thought. That he would marry her and they could rule the North. Now, he was her Lord and Master and not by marriage. Not only that, but he wanted to her abort their only child… the only child she would ever have.

If she died, Stannis would give Winterfell to Petyr. Her head was spinning as she gripped the vial so tightly she wondered if the glass would cut her skin.

_Beware the man in black… he will destroy what you hold most precious_

In her dream, she was chasing the black cloak and when she awoke, Petyr was standing in the doorway… his black shadow against the light behind him. Petyr wore dark colours and often black anyhow. Did Melisandre really have the power of foretelling the future?

Sansa did not dream the overheard conversation between the two men. That was real and now. Petyr was poised to take everything she had and that included the child she wanted.

Sansa looked at the vial containing death in her hand. She could end this right now. Go to Stannis and plead her case that she was a strong leader and send Petyr back to the Vale. He did tell her he was dangerous to her. He told her, in fact, pleaded with her not to love or care for him.

_You stubborn woman. If I didn’t make you care for me, you’d be taking a potion even now and forcing me back to the Vale to protect yourself. That’s how a player acts. Without love and emotion clouding smart and logical moves. Didn’t I teach you anything?_

_Yes_ , she thought. _You taught me everything, Petyr_.

Sansa uncorked the vial and walked over to the window. The delicate snow was falling and it was beautiful to gaze at. She opened the window a crack and felt the cool air hit her face. Only then did she realize she was crying as the winter chill touched the tears rolling down her cheeks. Sansa lifted the vial…

_Oh sweet child, forgive me_

Pouring the contents onto the snow-covered ledge, Sansa sealed her fate.

_Come what may_


	18. The Crypt

It had been over a week since Stannis and his army made camp in Winterfell. Petyr had expected they would leave days ago but the snows didn’t ease up and they were forced to stay longer. Petyr had calculated the rations of provisions he brought from the Vale but the longer Stannis stayed the faster it would be depleted. He needed those provisions for Sansa to get through the winter. He knew now, he would have to leave sooner than planned to the Vale. He would leave with Stannis and then head east as the Baratheon army turned west for the Iron Islands.

Petyr spent most of his waking hours with Stannis, preparing to march south and a siege of Kings Landing. Cersei was failing more and more in her regency and the Tyrell’s were said to be ready to turn on the Lannisters and take the crown for themselves. The Faith Militant was creating a downward spiral in the city. Petyr learnt his brothels had been sacked and many noble lords were imprisoned including Loras Tyrell. It had to be Cersei’s doing, Petyr thought. Tommen was too much of a soft boy to rule or be feared. Cersei was desperately trying to hold on to any power she could and by siding with this High Sparrow, she was driving a bigger wedge between her house and the High Garden. Cersei, Petyr knew, underestimated Margery and especially her grandmother, Olenna.

He had made a bargain with this old Queen of Thorns to kill Joffery and wed Margery to Tommen instead. The Tyrell’s thought they were gaining more power but Petyr knew it was only temporary. If they overthrew Cersei and Tommen it would only make easier work for Stannis. The Tyrell’s were wealthy, yes, but they didn’t have the bannermen or support of any other great house to wage war on Stannis.

Petyr sat at his desk and read the multiple messages he had received from all over Westeros. Jaime Lannister had suddenly disappeared. Lord Royce’s updates on Robert and Petyr’s men in Gulltown, the Riverlands, Harrenhal and Kings Landing. Before him, Petyr looked at the many demands from Cersei to return to Kings Landing. Each time, he refused due to the demands of the Vale since his wife’s untimely demise. He promised that the Vale would support her and the King and that he, the former Master of Coin, was still their loyal servant. Petyr reminded her that Stannis would march on Winterfell soon and after that attempt to take the Vale. He, as Lord Protector of the Vale and Lord of Harrenhal couldn’t possibly leave to aid her in this little trifle with the Tyrell’s.

Petyr thought perhaps he could use this High Sparrow as well and kill lions and flowers with one swing of the Faith Militant sword. Cersei was using him to target the Tyrell’s and Petyr could use him to help bring down the Queen Mother and her incestuous family. Surely, such a sinful family didn’t deserve to rule. He would need to speak with Olenna again. The old woman was sly, and it wouldn’t take much to figure out that he had spirited away Sansa for his own devices. Had Sansa been married to Loras, the Tyrells could have more control over the North and perhaps pledge Stannis their fealty instead. But Petyr beat them to the punch and won the North. Now the Lannisters and Tyrells stood alone battling each other and when the time was right, they would both fall to Stannis.

The only question was the Targaryen girl. His spies said she was still ruling in Meereen and having difficulty at that. Reports of her dragons, not one, but three were all over Braavos and the eastern shores.

There was no word about Varys or even Tyrion, which gave Petyr pause. Varys wasn’t stupid and most likely fled Kings Landing after Tywin’s death. He had to know, like Petyr, that the Lannisters would fall without him. The rumour was that Tyrion had killed his father before fleeing the city and most likely Westeros. It was possible that Varys helped him considering the timing. Varys had a soft spot for the good of the realm, Petyr recalled with disdain.

If Varys and Tyrion had no other allies in Westeros, the only logical move would be to seek out this young Queen of Meereen. She had an army of Unsullied, Petyr heard. If Stannis had any opposition, it would be this girl. She must have learned much from her Dothraki barbarians for she was able to forge an army and bring the common slaves and people to her cause. She was still young and inexperienced but Petyr had to keep a close eye on this girl. Her power was growing and with the aid of three dragons, she was dangerous indeed. Petyr cursed Ned Stark and the failed attempts to kill this girl before she grew into a serious and threatening opposition. All she need do is cross the Narrow Sea, gather the some of the southern houses and she could take Kings Landing.

The Vale and Winterfell forces would have retreated out of Kings Landing by then and perhaps this Targaryen would not venture North during a long winter. During that time, Petyr could devise more plans to win over this new Queen. Westeros would not be too keen to have another Targaryen on the Iron Throne since the Mad King. However, if she was winning over slaves and common folk, she could do the same in Westeros. The cities and countryside would be ripe with revolution over the poor leadership from Cersei and the Tyrells. Thieves, rapists and extremists were running rampant. If Stannis couldn’t bring back control, the fear of dragons and the wrath of a new queen could. This Melisandre and her one true God, could be Stannis’ downfall. If the people were not ready to denounce the Seven, they could also turn against Stannis and his Red Priestess. Religion and politics, Petyr smiled, two things that should never coincide together and religious fanatics should never rule.

Yes, the fear of dragons, something real that could turn a populace to chaos in a heartbeat. This Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons just might regain her birthright. Perhaps this is what Varys had been planning all along. If Varys had Tyrion, together they could act as advisors to this Queen and that would put Petyr and Sansa at a disadvantage. Tyrion and especially Varys needed to be found and killed. Not only that, but Petyr needed another piece on his board in case this scenario came true.

A marriage perhaps? Something he could orchestrate that would show this new Queen that he and Sansa wanted to unify Westeros under her rule, a merging of the North and South.

Petyr stood and started scanning the library of books he held in his solar. He thought back to when he was helping Ned look for clues to Robert Baratheon’s heirs and bastards. Yes, that’s it. He needed his tome on the Great Houses.

* * *

  
Petyr walked down the narrow stairs the led into Winterfell’s crypt. It was damp, cold and musty. That alone made Petyr long for the warmth of the south. He forgot how the North could chill your bones regardless of how warm you were dressed and how many fires burned. Perhaps he was just getting older and his body was telling him the harsh truth he didn’t wish to hear anymore.

The stairs opened to the vast crypt before him. Petyr knew what he was searching for but seeing Sansa standing at the end of the corridor was surprising. He silently watched her as she lit the candles for her departed family. Her movements graceful and unhurried, she placed candles upon each tomb effigy.

Petyr smiled. Yes, she may be a wolf, but she was becoming a mockingbird more every day. He could hear her trying to stifle a little cough. She still wasn’t fully recovered. Petyr hadn’t seen much of her during the past few days, in fact, he was avoiding her as much as possible. He knew, sooner or later, he would have to talk to her about Winterfell and her new role. Putting it off was only going to be harder, he thought but somehow he felt like he was delaying the pain until their departure. She tended to stay in her chamber and only came out for the mere purpose of keeping up appearances for the King and his brood.

He hadn’t yet told her of Stannis’ decree giving the North and Winterfell to him. It wasn’t a rumour that was sweeping through Winterfell, so it still must have been only between Stannis and him. Gossip of a new lord would have spread like wildfire in such a place. Somehow, he felt she knew. Sansa never asked once about it, not in Petyr’s presence at least. He had told to her to expect Stannis to name her Wardness of the North before leaving Winterfell, and it had yet to happen. It was not going to happen but she didn’t pressure it from anyone.

Petyr walked softly towards her and announced his presence. “I thought I would find you here.” It was a lie, for she wasn’t whom he was seeking.

Sansa was standing directly in front of her mother’s tomb. _Cat_ , he thought, _I never got to say goodbye._ Petyr ran his fingers across the cold stone in remembrance. Did he ever really know her? He had loved the girl he played with so long, he barely even knew the woman she had become. Killing the Freys and Boltons was the least he could do to avenge her death. Making her daughter a powerful woman in her own right, would be his legacy. Sansa wasn’t her mother. She was stronger and would make a good and just ruler one day. Would she be a mother? Yes, even if the child wasn’t his. Petyr couldn’t imagine Sansa not becoming a loving and good mother.

“You really loved her, didn’t you.” Sansa’s soft voice echoed in this dreary place. It wasn’t a question and her tone was made of pure fact. No jealousy or anger, just honesty.

“Yes, I did,” Petyr answered her with the same measure of honesty. “She was a good woman. Honest and noble to a fault. She was a perfect match to your father. Sadly, both were too trusting… and here they lie together."

“Yes, at least they trusted in one another. That’s love. If you don’t have trust, what is love?” Sansa spoke as she stared her mother’s stone face.

Petyr turned and regarded Sansa’s expression. She might as well have been a talking statue, a mirror image of the tomb in front of her. Petyr sighed, “All you have then is lust, infatuation, obsession, jealousy, suspicion and eventually hate.”

Sansa looked at her parents’ tombs with sad eyes. “What I would give for such a love. I know now, that I’ll never love or be loved. I wish mother never let me read such fairy tales as a child. Real love doesn’t happen often in this world. They were lucky to have such happiness for a time at least. I don’t think I’ll ever have that.” She turned and stared at him for a moment. “I don’t think I can ever trust any man now.”

 _She knows_ , he surmised. How could she not? He taught her exactly to how to be like him. “I know it’s hard for you to believe right now, but I do have your best interests at heart.” Petyr wasn’t trying to convince her, not really. He expected she would be angry with him.

“Best interests. I thought my best interests were to take control of my home and win back my birthright. I find that hard to do when you have been made my lord and master,” she countered bitterly.

“Only for the time being. We both know why Stannis ordered it so. Had you not been with child or if they had never known it, you would be Wardeness of the North right now. I can’t change your fragile state or how men like Stannis view women especially those that are so young and vulnerable,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“Is that why you want me to get rid of it, to appear stronger and without burden? Will you then go to Stannis and demand that he name me to control the North? Will you humbly refuse this new and more powerful title rather than add it to your collection?” She seemed slightly pleased with herself throwing his power play back at him, but she really didn’t see the point he was trying to make without insulting her.

“You are so early in months and the maester cannot tell with complete certainty that you haven’t miscarried. You _could_ go to Stannis now and say are no longer with child and want your heritage. See where it gets you. He will never know by the time he leaves if you have lied to him. Somehow, I doubt it will change his mind. So now, all that is left is us.” Petyr took a few more steps and was face to face with her. She didn’t step back and held her ground.

“Us,” she dared him. “What exactly is that?”

Petyr clasped her shoulders. “ _We_ are all we have now. _Us_. If we don’t look out for each other and trust each other, we have nothing and we both lose.”

“That’s easy for you to say when you hold all the cards.” Petyr smiled, she was a quick study and he was proud.

“Do you really think it serves me to take everything of yours and abandon you? You and I both know I will never hold the North alone. My name means nothing here. You are everything. Your bannermen will never follow me or allow me to rule while you are alive and well.”

“Ah, so how will you plan my untimely death? There are no Moon Doors here in Winterfell. It will look even more suspicious if I fall from the tower like my brother, don’t you think? They’ll lynch you on the spot,” Sansa smiled. There was a playfulness in her tone but her words were never more serious.

Petyr had made so many mistakes with this girl, he realized. It would have been better had he never been intimate with her. He thought at the time that it would bind her to him, make her trust him more, but in the end all it did was make everything harder.

Feeling a pang of hurt, Petyr pulled her so close that he could almost brush against her lips. “Do you really think I could ever hurt you? Don’t you know by now how much I care about you?”

“You hurt me every day.”

“What is it you want from me? To play the lovesick boy, the licentious lover… the husband I cannot be right now? Do you want me to lie and say that this child will solve all our problems or tell you the truth that it’s the most dangerous thing that could happen to either of us at this point in time? Please tell me which you would rather hear.” Petyr sighed and wrapped his arms around her nuzzling into her neck. “If I lie to you, you’ll only hate me for it.”

“How do I know you’re not lying to me now? You said yourself; you need me to hold the North. That’s all I am to you, admit it.” She tried to push him away but he wouldn’t let her and held fast.

“Because you _know_ me. You and no one else.” She squirmed and he held her tighter pinning her arms in his embrace. “Do you have _any_ idea how difficult it is for me to trust anyone? I would have never have trusted your mother the way I trust you.”

That stilled her and he pulled back slightly and looked her in the eyes. “Look at me,” he commanded. “I don’t trust anyone… _except you_.”

Petyr surprised himself at how much truth there was in that one small statement. He did trust her, more than anyone in his life, he trusted this girl. He knew she could be his downfall if he wasn’t careful, but she gambled on him that day in the Eyrie. Now, he was going to gamble on her and he was betting man. Petyr felt he knew her well enough to see if she would betray him down the road and it was a risk he would have to take if he was going to keep her on his side for the long game.

“If you trust me so much, why couldn’t you just come to me and tell me all of this?” she said pointedly.

 _She had a point!_

“I admit, I didn’t know how you would receive this news. I don’t want to placate or even patronize you, but considering all that has happened in just a few days… “ Petyr sighed. “When she told everyone within earshot that you were pregnant… for the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to do. Any desire I could have for a son… or daughter… was overshadowed by the danger that it would cause either of us. As much as I would love to know I have someone to pass my life onto… I actually would like to be there, to see them grow and be proud. I don’t want to watch them die because I was weak or not there to protect them or you.”

Petyr brushed her lips, kissing the corner of her mouth as his hands drifted down to her torso. “The logical side of me says that it’s nothing but trouble, that it would be better to get rid of it now. But a stronger part of me, wants you to have it. The idea that I am here, growing inside you.” He gently caressed her stomach. “That you are mine and mine alone.”

“I don’t belong to any man…” He silenced her with a searing kiss pulling her body flush to his.

“You belong to me,” he breathed against her lips as she struggled feebly, “Just as I am yours…”

“And what if I miscarried already?” she pressed.

“Do believe so? I assume there would have been blood on your sheets and nightdress. I have had enough girls miscarry in the brothels, so don’t lie to me.” Petyr held her hips and wouldn’t let her avert her eyes. “ _Do you_?”

She couldn’t look away, “No. I don’t think so. Are you disappointed?” she whispered.

Petyr held her to him again and kissed her neck, “Even if you lost it, I could not feel disappointed with you. Besides, if you really wanted, I could give you another. As many as you wish.” He relished in the thought of giving her lots of babies if she so desired. What a pleasant task it would be. Petyr smiled against her skin.

Sansa’s breath hitched slightly, “And if I don’t want or cannot have another?” Petyr pulled back and studied her.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I – you… We don’t know what our future holds. Maybe this is your or my only chance to have a child or maybe it was all a mistake… It’s a risk either way.”

“It is.” Petyr wasn’t sure where she was going with this. His stomach flipped and it wasn’t pleasant. “Are you trying to say you don’t want me anymore, is that it?” He tilted her chin so their eyes met.

“Yes.” There was a falter in her voice and Petyr didn’t believe her for a second.

“Hmm, care to test that theory?” He smiled seductively. This wasn’t exactly the best place for this game, but who would think to look for either of them down here right now.

“No.” Sansa retreated a few steps and the tomb of her Aunt Lyanna hit her back. Petyr looked up at the stone face and then to Sansa as he pinned her against the hard marble. “She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen… until you. Strange that the two most stunning of all Stark women are right here.”

Sansa’s eyes revealed a questioning as he moved closer. “ I was a boy when I saw her. My first tourney at Harrenhal with your mother’s family. A boy with nothing to his name. I watched your father, Robert Baratheon, Jon Arryn… all these legendary men tilt. And the cheering of the crowds as Rhaegar won and rode past his wife to lay a crown of winter roses in your Aunt Lyanna’s lap. Blue as frost, I remember. I’ve never heard it so quiet.” Petyr thought for a moment, “How many men had to die because Rhaegar chose your Aunt.”

Sansa’s heavy breathing against his chest brought his attention back to her. He wanted to kiss those lips and prove to her that she was wrong. That she wanted him regardless of how much she denied it. There was defiance in those blue eyes and just before he leaned in to take what he wanted, she spoke.

“Yes, he chose her.” There was a strange anger in her eyes as she directed her words more to Petyr than about Rhaegar, “Then he kidnapped her and raped her.”

Something dawned on Petyr in that moment and it wasn’t the girl who was essentially charging him with the deaths of many because he chose this young Stark at a tourney in Kings Landing…Kidnap? Rape? No, his thoughts were about Rhaegar and Lyanna and the loyal, noble Starks in regards to protecting their own. He glanced at Cat’s tomb and then Ned’s and the puzzle righted itself in Petyr’s mind. It all made sense now.

Petyr leaned in close and smiled mischievously to Sansa.

“ _Did he_?”

It wasn’t a question and he didn’t expect an answer when he kissed her passionately. He moaned into her open mouth and Sansa answered his question without uttering a word as she entwined her arms around his neck.


	19. Game of Hearts

  
  


Petyr spent the latter half of the day studying in his solar after leaving the crypts. A mad idea formed in his mind kissing Sansa. It wasn’t about her, but her family. Several large tomes sat near the corner of his desk along with a plate of half-eaten dinner that was quickly growing cold. Petyr scanned the lineages of the Targaryens down to Rhaegar and then looked the genealogy of the Starks.

After Robert Baratheon had won, virtually all the Targaryens and their heirs were killed save for Viserys and Daenerys. Lyanna was found by her brother Eddard in Dorne, guarded heavily by Rhaegar’s Kingsguards and shortly died thereafter. The widespread idea made by Robert and Brandon Stark was that Rhaegar had repeatedly raped her while keeping her prisoner.

What if Daenerys was not the last Targaryen to survive? Sansa taught Petyr that bedding a woman only one night could result in bearing a child. Most men do not abduct a woman only for raping her. Yes, some do but not those with the reputation like Rhaegar who was beloved by the people. It wasn’t in his personality, Petyr thought, to do such a thing. His marriage should have been with one of his own, but instead, he was wed to Elia Martell of Dorne.

Petyr sat back in his chair and drank his wine mulling it over. People like Brandon, Tywin and Robert didn’t understand what men would do for the love of the right woman. A young naïve boy that would challenge a trained knight for the hand of the girl he loved, a prince that shocked his wife and the kingdom by choosing a northern maid betrothed to another, a brothel-keeper and money lender that stole away a young tortured girl to save her and make her a future queen. These were the things that men who loved did.

He scanned the Stark lineage down to Ned. Petyr knew the former Lord of Winterfell loved his ladywife and Cat loved him. She bore him several children. Not only were they sternly protective of their children but also each other. Cat and Ned would have done anything for each other, Petyr realized.

_Jon Snow_

Why would Ned betray his love for a common woman? It made no sense. Petyr remembered chiding the Hand of the King for his one and only indiscretion when seeking out King Robert’s many bastards. At the time, Petyr enjoyed belittling Ned and pointing out his mistakes especially in regards to Cat. If Cat had been Petyr’s wife, he would never have strayed. Why did Lord Stark?

Stark’s bastard was born towards the end of Robert’s Rebellion. His mother was never named, Petyr noted. It was known that Cat was furious upon learning Ned’s infidelity and never truly accepted this boy at Winterfell. Ned, however, insisted on this bastard to be raised essentially as his other true-born children. He was educated and trained just as well as his heir, Robb Stark. Sansa had revealed much about her family during their time at the Eyrie and the rest Petyr learned from his many spies and time at Kings Landing. One could learn anything if properly motivated, paid well and knew the right people. Knowledge is power Petyr always thought. Strength and military brawn was one thing, but if you didn’t know whom you were fighting and what you were fighting for, that steel and muscle was useless. Petyr had killed more prominent people and brought down kings with an elegant swipe of his quill.

Lyanna’s death and Jon’s birth… Petyr kept looking between the two dates. Lord Eddard was fiercely protective of this bastard son and raised him as his trueborn. This was something the High Lords of Westeros simply did not do. Perhaps if he didn’t have a male heir like Roose Bolton, but the Starks had more than enough male heirs to Winterfell. Love? No, Petyr knew Ned loved Catelyn. Protection? Yes, but from whom? Who would care about a Stark bastard? No one.

Now, a royal bastard was a different story indeed. After Robert’s Rebellion, all but the two Targaryen’s were slaughtered including the two small children Elia gave Rhaegar. If Lyanna were pregnant at the time, she would have appealed to her loyal and honourable brother, Ned, to take the child and protect it. Ned was many things Petyr didn’t care for, but no one could deny his noble, honest and loyal ways. Brandon slew her lover, she would not entrust such a task to him. That left Eddard.

So he would risk the rage of his wife, to bring home a bastard son to raise as his own. Jon Snow was no bastard, Petyr knew. He was last male heir to Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Viserys was dead and Daenerys ruled in the East and was in danger of being overthrown if the rumours were true from his spies. This young Queen didn’t seem to have good council around her to help her rule Meereen let alone the other eastern territories. She may not even be able to cross the Narrow Sea. Varys was also still very much on Petyr’s mind. He was a betting man, and somehow he knew Varys would go to this girl and try to bring her to Westeros. Varys, he was sure, had his many connections and possibly wealthy supporters to make it happen. He needed to find Varys and soon. But if he was in league with Daenerys and she finally made it to the Seven Kingdoms, Petyr would have a very valuable card to play.

Sansa may not be his trump card after all, he thought. Petyr closed his eyes and weighed this new information. He was rarely wrong when it came to figuring people out. He could usually read them like a book. The book, as it so happened, was right in front of him. The more he thought on it, the more it seemed to be the truth.

Jon was Rhaegar’s son and the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Daenerys would still come to Westeros with her dragons, but if it could be proven that Jon was a Targaryen, he could wed this boy to his aunt and seal the breach. Jon was protective and loyal to his Stark family and Petyr couldn’t see a reason why he wouldn’t allow Sansa to rule in the North. Or Petyr could use Jon to kill Daenerys and take the throne with his half-sister holding the North for him.

Petyr smiled to himself and took another sip of wine. Gods, he loved chaos and the game itself. It gave him life to turn everything upside down and back again. Jon was another option, another pawn he could use. This new Commander of the Watch was young, not much older than Sansa, but something told Petyr not to underestimate him.

A bastard brought up and educated like a true-born but never allowed to be one. Petyr knew that kind of bitterness and what it could do to a man. Being raised with a high born family only to be put in one’s place when he aspired too high. However, Stannis said he refused legitimacy and the title of Lord of Winterfell. So, much of Eddard’s noble qualities were strong with this boy. But if he learns that he is of royal blood, that could be a different song if sung by someone as savvy as Petyr and having Sansa on his side.

Soon the winter storms would be much worse and Petyr needed to focus more on the short-term plans that lay ahead. He needed Stannis out of Winterfell and onward to the Iron Islands. Petyr had already sent a raven to the Vale to prepare for his arrival and all the necessary arrangements to go to war. Supplies would need to be sent to Sansa to replenish Winterfell’s stores from the army that was depleting it faster every day. He knew he needed to marry Sansa and soon. If he were the husband of the Lord Commander’s dear half-sister and a trusted party, it would make it easier to convince this boy of his heritage and move him into play.

_Sansa_

How would she react to his sudden change in plans once again? He knew she was furious with him after being named the new Warden of the North and Protector of her beloved Winterfell. As far as he knew, she could have in fact miscarried and she wasn’t telling him out of fear. Did she think he wouldn’t care or have use for her now that he had the North without having to marry her to get it? Only the child would bind him to her and give her his protection? Perhaps. She still could be pregnant after all and it changed nothing.

Even so, Petyr knew he had to win her back. She did kiss him back only hours ago in the crypts. He knew she didn’t fully hate him. Of course, he taught her well, she could be playing him, all the more reason to win her favour and confidence back. If he simply declared his love and wish for marriage, she would never believe him. No, it had to be more manipulative than that. Petyr thought back on their intimacies together. They were their most honest with each other at those times, he noticed. Petyr had reprimanded himself many times for letting his guard down so often in the throws of lust with her. Maybe, it was the wisest course after all.

If she let him back into her bed, he would know if she truly trusted him again or not. She could play him, thinking sex was all he was after, especially after that night in his solar. No, tonight would be different. Tonight would be all about love and their future. Petyr was leaving tomorrow with Stannis. It had to be tonight.

Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could get her with child again. Petyr smiled at the thought. Ah, he loved making love to this girl. She would be the death of him, but oh what a grand death it would be.

The candle burned low on his desk and Petyr could see it was dark outside through the frosted windows. It was late and most would be sleeping for an early rise tomorrow morning. Petyr rubbed his face and felt the scratch of his evening beard coming in. No, this would not do. Suddenly, a purely sinful thought sprang to mind. Petyr guessed at the time and walked over to his wardrobe. He disrobed his doublet opting for his silk tunic and a soft dressing gown. Pulling out his straight-edged razor and sliding it into his pocket, Petyr left his chambers. He knew what Sansa did around this time every night. She was terribly predictable in her whereabouts lately and tonight it would work to his advantage.

* * *

The hallways were deserted as Petyr made his way to Sansa’s chambers. Just as he suspected, all of Stannis’ people were asleep save for the guards outside their royal chambers, but they were on the other side of the castle. Petyr hoped Sansa’s handmaiden was in her own chamber tonight when he reached her door. There was a faint light under the heavy oak and Petyr waited listening for voices. He heard nothing and tentatively turned the latch of the door as quiet as possible.

Her room was warm as he could see the fire had been freshly stoked. Petyr closed the door behind him and silently bolted it. The room was empty but he heard a soft splash of water and Petyr turned his head to the sound. The door to her bath chamber was slightly ajar and a soft glow of candlelight emitted from it. Petyr padded over to the door and peered inside. Sansa was indeed alone and from the steam emanating from the copper tub, she had just begun her bath. Her hair was pinned up in a mess of curls with a few damp strands around her face and neck. He longed to run his fingers through those curls again. Petyr lightly pushed the door open hearing it creak on its old hinges.

“I won’t be needing anything more, I can manage myself for the rest of the night, thank you.” Sansa instructed who she believed to be her handmaiden entering the room.

“Yes, I know you can manage yourself quite well,” Petyr teased. Sansa almost shrieked but covered her mouth. Petyr couldn’t help but softly chuckle at startling her so. Somehow she knew only he would have the audacity to enter her chamber, especially a bath, unannounced and uninvited.

“Petyr!” she whispered harshly, “What the seven hells are you doing here?” She tried in vain to cover herself as he leaned against the door watching her with amusement.

“I think we can dispense with false modesty, sweetling,” Petyr smiled. He remembered bathing her months ago, or was it yesterday? Then, his actions were purely for her well being, but gazing at her now… he was transfixed.

“You can’t be here,” she glared at him.

“Oh? You want me to leave?” Petyr challenged her.

“Yes.” Sansa refused to meet his gaze and Petyr didn’t believe her. She would have to kick him out her door if she truly wanted him to go. He would never force himself on her and he would leave if she really wished him to, but he knew she didn’t… almost.

“Well, that’s not going to happen. I need this as much as you.” Petyr began taking off his dressing gown and Sansa’s eyes widened. Petyr grinned from ear to ear at her feigned astonishment, “Don’t flatter yourself so much. You are delectable right now but it’s the hot bath I want.”

“Go draw one for yourself, then.” Petyr was enjoying this far too much. He loved her spirit and quick wit. He made fast work of his laces and shrugged out of the remainder of his clothing. He folded the clothing and set it on the stool next to the tub, setting the razor on top.

“Alas, I could, but it would take a terribly long time and yours is far more appealing to share. Come now, move forward or I’ll lift you up myself and we can both slip and break our necks, “ he dared her. “Wouldn’t that be the towering gossip tomorrow morning?” Petyr chuckled.

Sansa scowled at him but leaned forward as he wished. It was hot and when he finally sat down with her between his legs, the water level rose enough to where it almost spilt over the side. Two bodies in this tub were snug but not completely uncomfortable. Petyr sighed, a hot bath felt too good. His muscles began to relax and he felt he could doze off right here and now. He rested his head against the high back of the copper tub and gazed at Sansa’s bare back. Such beautiful skin, he thought.

The fingers on his right hand grazed her moist skin and he felt her flinch. Petyr pushed down a small pang of hurt and sat up. There was a sponge floating in the water and he picked it up and lightly squeezed it over her shoulder. Tenderly, he began washing her back. Not a word was spoken between them and Petyr was second-guessing himself on whether he should leave when suddenly a soft sigh escaped her lips.

Petyr stopped and wrapped his arms around her middle bringing his lips to her shoulder. “Do you want me to go?” he asked sincerely. She lightly shook her head silently. “Come here,” he commanded gently, pulling her back with him as he rested against the tub. The hot water was up to their chests and Petyr had never felt more peaceful holding her. His hands caressed her stomach in small circles under the water. He wondered vaguely if she carried a boy or a girl as he rested his chin on her head and closed his eyes. He could feel her face turn into his neck and her fingers laced with his. Petyr let out a contented sigh and kissed her forehead. He didn’t attempt to do anything to her. He was relaxed and waited for her to make the first move.

For the longest time, they rested enjoying the warmth of the water and each other. Petyr opened his eyes when he felt her shift a bit. He raised his knees up to give her more room, which resulted in her rubbing her backside against him making him groan. Her bare skin and the delicious feel of the water around them were stirring him. His hands were still caressing her torso and one hand slowly drifted down as fingers sifted through her curls. She gasped as his digits explored and her hips jerked back against him. Gods, he could take her right here and now. No, he decided. He would let her choose.

She moved his free hand up to her breast and Petyr smiled as he massaged her. She writhed against him making him harden instantly. He gripped her mound pulling upwards and she moaned his name. He loved hearing the way she said his name, like a prayer. He turned her jaw up and kissed her. All he could hear was her gasps of pleasure as they ground against each other and the splash of the water as their bodies moved.

Suddenly she stopped the kiss and turned around with a bit of difficulty due to their tight enclosure. Petyr dropped his knees as she straddled him. He sat up fully and kissed her wet skin along her collarbone while his hands brought her backside to rub against his aching need. The water splashed and she tilted his head up to kiss him. Petyr didn’t ever expect her to be aggressive, but he wasn’t complaining. He held onto her and kissed her fully. He was lost in her sweet mouth and tantalizing sensation of her moving against him under the water. So sweet it was, that he groaned in disappointment when she suddenly stopped.

“It hurts,” she answered his silent question while touching around his mouth.

“I was going to shave first, but I couldn’t give up this hot bath for the world,” Petyr smiled. He reached across and grasped the folded blade on the stool. “Here… since I don’t have a mirror and I certainly don’t want to scratch your lovely skin.” He unfolded the silver blade and handed it to her. Her eyes were full of questions as she turned the blade over in her hands. “I trust you,” he added boring his eyes into hers.

She hesitantly brought the blade to his cheek and Petyr instantly pulled away. Sansa glared at him asking why.

“It would be beneficial if you were to use a lather first, my dear. I don’t fancy being flayed.” The anger left her eyes immediately as realization dawned on her. She used the sponge and soap to make a lather and smeared it where his beard grew. Petyr observed her as she looked about his face wondering where to begin.

She held the razor trying to figure out the angle needed. Petyr smiled and showed her how to hold it correctly. As long as she didn’t slice him to pieces, he would be content with a few nicks that surely he would receive from a novice hand.

Sansa brought it up to his cheek again. “Up or down,” she asked sincerely.

“Down,” he instructed. Petyr didn’t hold his breath or give her any sign that he was fairly nervous. He wanted to show her trust. He had to have trust in the woman sitting practically on his hardened cock that was wielding a sharp blade to his face.

Slowly she pulled the blade down revealing soft, clean skin. Petyr controlled his breathing and let her work. Her eyes were so attentive at the task that he was quite mesmerized watching her. With each delicate stroke, she was feeling more confident at her ability and worked along his face. When it came to his chin and throat, she looked him in the eyes and he smiled at her before lifting his chin up.

“Up, this time,” he instructed with patience.

Petyr gazed at the ceiling waiting for what felt like forever. The blade rested just above the middle of his neck then gently gliding up taking the pesky hair with it. When finished, Petyr didn’t know what to think for a moment. She didn’t attempt to cut him or threaten him. He had almost expected it. She sat there and observed him instead. Petyr cupped his hands and brought the water up to rinse his face. It was getting tepid now. Hot baths didn’t last long in this cold. Petyr leaned forward and kissed her.

“Better?”

“Mmm-hmm” as she kissed him back. Petyr brought his arms around her back pressing her into him. The feel of her wet skin on his body and the way her mouth devoured his, was breaking him. So lost in it all that he didn’t feel the blade return to his throat until she broke the kiss abruptly.

Petyr pulled back slowly and opened his eyes. Her eyes were glazed and fixed on his. Petyr licked his lips and didn’t break her gaze as he waited. Her hand didn’t falter, shake, nothing but a firm press to his skin. A little deeper and she would surely draw his blood for Petyr kept his razors sharp.

“It will be messy and your bath will be ruined,” he exhaled. He knew he risked angering her being sarcastic in such a moment but he could think of nothing else to say.

“Yes, but at least the maids won’t have to clean your blood off the floor. I would like to think I am a kind mistress,” Sansa returned his smirk.

Petyr smiled. Oh, he taught his mockingbird well, too well. If he were to die, it might as well be by her hand.

“Kind, indeed. But you would have to explain how I managed to die naked in your tub. I would have liked to be present for such a conversation with Stannis tomorrow. Maybe I’ll be a ghost.” Her hold on the blade didn’t lessen and Petyr waited.

“I could tell him anything. You came to my room and tried to rape me in my bath…” Petyr could feel a slight cut on his skin and didn’t wince. He never broke eye contact.

“And slit my throat for good measure…” he chided playfully.

Sansa pressed the blade harder and this time he could feel a trickle of blood run down his neck. “I could kill you now… “

“What are you waiting for?” Petyr dared her. “You didn’t hesitate when you killed Ramsay. Do it. Take it all… everything I have. It’s all yours with one swipe of your hand.”

“Stop distracting me. I _will_ kill you.”

Petyr huffed, “You would have done it already.”

With that, he took the blade from her hand with ease and threw it across the room and kissed her roughly while holding her body flush to his. She was already kissing him back and Petyr knew he won this battle or so he thought. He winced and pulled back seeing a satisfied glare in her eyes. Petyr’s tongue ventured out and tasted the copper on his lip where she clearly bit him. He should be annoyed but it only aroused him on all the more. This kitten was showing her claws, but he was determined to make her purr and arch her back.

“I can see I’m bested,” he lied. “Perhaps, it’s time for me to get some sleep after all.”

There was confusion written on her face when his hands grabbed her waist and lifted her enough that she could stand. She stood for a moment looking down at him. She didn’t try to cover herself as his eyes raked her wet body. Petyr raised his eyebrows in question and she answered by stepping out of the tub and covering herself in the thick blanket. Petyr stood and stepped out while watching her dry herself. He closed the distance and wrapped his arms around her waist holding her to his naked body.

“Why are you here?” she whispered as he began kissing down her neck.

“A better question is, ‘why haven’t you kicked me out’?” Petyr nuzzled her neck and started taking out her hairpins one by one letting her curls cascade down her back. Her breathing increased and her head fell back onto his shoulder.

“Why can’t I hate you… be done with you…” Sansa said it more to herself but Petyr understood completely. No matter how hard he tried to distance himself, to convince himself, he could not deny the feelings he had for her. It wasn’t just desire, he wanted to possess everything about her. He wanted her to be solely his. He wanted to wake to her beautiful face every morning and make love to her every night.

Petyr turned her around and kissed her chastely. His breathing was heavy and he forced her to look him in the eyes. “Tell me to leave, right now, and I will. Tell me you wish to be forever free of me, and I’ll do as you command. I will give you back your home but I’ll make sure you are protected and have everything you need, and I will never expect anything from you… Or…”

Her eyes were expectant and he felt he was on the right track. “Be my wife, my love and mother of my children. I will honour you in every way,” he offered genuinely. She was hesitant, as she should be, but she searched his eyes for dishonesty and judging by her look, she found none.

“Why now? You have everything. Winterfell, the North… you don’t need me. I will have my bannermen support Stannis regardless of your title. You don’t need to play me anymore.” There was a hitch in her breath waiting for his response. Stannis wasn’t his endgame but the Starks were.

Petyr pulled her into his arms. “I don’t have _everything_. I have nothing without you.” It wasn’t a lie, Petyr told himself. He kissed along her jaw and stroked her back. “I want you happy more than anything. You are deserving of love. The thought of you never trusting anyone again… _loving_ again… No, I can’t have that. I want you to have a choice in your happiness whatever it may be.”

He leaned back and pushed the wet strands away from her face. Her eyes were brimming with tears and he knew, in this moment, he didn’t want to hurt her again but he just couldn’t promise himself anything. “You said we’d be in more danger, that if anyone found out… “

“I did and we will. I want you to choose what you really want. This could be the most perilous thing you do, but if you say yes to me, I will protect you with everything I have.”

Slowly her grim face eased into a smile. It had been so long since he had seen a genuine smile from her. He knew he convinced her right then and it wasn’t as difficult as he thought it might have been. Maybe there was some truth in what he was saying or that Petyr was so good at lying his entire life, he couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

Sansa cut through his thoughts when she snaked her arms around his neck and kissed him. “When?” she breathed in his waiting mouth. This time he needed to give her a definite time frame.

“When I return from the Vale. By then everything will be in motion and the North will be all ours.” She was kissing him and caressing his back. Petyr was more than aware that they were both naked holding each other. He wanted to take her to her bed and silence this conversation. He pressed her tighter to him so she could feel what she was doing to him. She moaned into his mouth and her hand drifted around and down his body so close to touching him.

“ _When_ , Petyr.” She was taking control and it both aroused and annoyed him. His hand travelled down her backside and his fingers grazed her sex as he grasped her cheek. Sansa hissed and bucked into him. Petyr let his tongue run across her collarbone and kissed just above her breast.

“A month… two at the most. No doubt the snows will make travel treacherous.” He lowered his head and took a rosy nipple into his mouth. He felt her groan and slid his hands under her thighs lifting her up to wrap her legs around his waist. “We have only a few hours left, I would rather spend them using my mouth for things other than talking.” Petyr smiled, turned around and walked her into the next room where the warm bed awaited.

The fire was blazing but a chill could still be felt from the cold outside. The combination of hot and cold, ice and fire were rampant. Petyr set her on the bed and leaned over her bracing his arms on either side. Her Tully blue eyes were wide and her pupils dark with lust. She went to touch him but Petyr pulled her hand away. No, tonight was about him pleasing her.

He kissed her and whispered, “Lie back.” Sansa shifted so that she lay in the middle of the bed. Petyr lay alongside her supporting himself on one arm. Slowly he played with her hair, letting his fingers whisper around her face. His eyes travelled down her body making her blush. It had been two months since she had been bare before him. That night in his solar was all about lust and haste, this would be the opposite. Petyr kissed her without touching her with his hands. Her mouth opened and allowed his tongue to delve into that sweetness. Sansa tried to touch him, coax him to touch her but he wouldn’t allow it. He took her hands in his and raised them over her head and continued his assault on her mouth. He kissed along her jaw and found that lovely pulse of hers. She tried to turn her body toward him, bringing her leg to entwine with his and pull him to her. Petyr chuckled, feeling the vibration against her neck.

“Impatient, are we? Mmmm, I do believe I said we have a few hours left,” he teased and leaned over her while continuing to hold her wrists with one hand and the other trailed fire down her side. His mouth explored every pulse point and suckled the most sensitive area of her neck.

“Petyr, please…” Sansa moaned, “don’t tease me.”

Petyr hummed against her neck, “Oh sweetling, I haven’t even begun to tease you.” He shifted again until he was fully above her. Petyr released her hands and kissed between the swells of her breasts. Her skin was so soft as his mouth tasted every inch of her. He sucked her breast and her hands went to his hair. She made him writhe with pleasure that night in his solar. He was going to return the favour tonight.

He lavished attention on her breasts paying close attention to her sensitive nipples. His hand slid down to her curls and gently started to coax her. It didn’t take long, she was squirming under his attentions and he could feel her coating his fingers. He was dying to taste her again. Petyr moved down her body, his mouth making a trail to her navel. He glanced up and she was watching him intently. She knew where he was going and she anticipating it. Sansa apparently liked him pleasuring her with his mouth but he wasn’t going to give in so easily.

Petyr pulled away and sat upon his haunches between her legs. She was splayed out before him and he thought no man could be luckier. This beautiful creature was all his. He would be the greatest fool to let her go. This goddess would be his wife, he thought smiling at her.

“What are you staring at?” Sansa blushed.

Petyr grinned as his eyes burned over her. “I’m staring at my beautiful wife.”

“We’re not married yet,” she smiled innocently.

“Let’s see…” Petyr picked up her leg, his hands gliding from her thigh down to her calf. He kissed around her ankle and up to her knee. “As far as I’m concerned, you are my ladywife…” His tongue trailed around her knee as he rested her lower leg over his shoulder. “Who is with _my_ child…” Petyr locked his eyes on hers as he nipped her inner thigh making her gasp. “And I’d like to believe you wouldn’t let anyone…” His mouth kissed the delicate skin between her leg and groin. “But your husband…” Petyr hovered over her sex and gave her a look of pure lasciviousness as he could smell her arousal. “Make you come like this…”

Petyr lowered his mouth, never letting his eyes break from hers, and fully tasted her. Gods, he loved doing this to her. She tasted musky and sweet and he couldn’t get enough. Petyr pulled her hips to his mouth and draped her legs over his shoulders. Sansa threaded her fingers through his hair and groaned his name trying to raise her hips to meet his expert mouth. Like last time, he wrapped his arms around her hips and held her down. He thought of her mouth around him and moaned into her sensitive flesh. The vibrations make her buck and he knew she was close. He watched her chest heave and her head toss and turn as she gripped his head with force. Petyr hummed and suckled and devoured her with ferocity. She clutched at him and her legs flayed restlessly as she tried so hard to suppress her cries. He felt her tense and he lapped until she came down. Her legs relaxed and she released her death grip on his hair. Petyr’s mouth was wet with her juices and he revelled at how he could make her fall apart.

Petyr laid his head on her stomach for a moment feeling her trying to catch her breath. After a time, she was running her fingers through his hair and he shifted his head to look up at her. She was smiling at him and his heart skipped a beat. She pulled at him and he drew himself above her again settling between her legs. He didn’t know giving her pleasure would drive him mad. He was more than ready for her when she brought his head down to kiss her. She kissed him with the same feverishness that he gave her cunny. Her juices mingled with the sweetness of her mouth and she didn’t seem to mind at all. Petyr wondered if she ever could be like this with another man or did he bring it out in her?

“Is that really what we taste like?” she shyly asked him. Petyr kissed her again and dipped his tongue to touch hers.

“Did you like it?” She blushed beneath him and nodded. He could see she wanted to say something and he waited patiently. “What is it?”

“I – I didn’t know men did things… like that.” She couldn’t meet his eyes and he found her absolutely precious.

“Well, I’m not most men,” he teased. “Most men only care about their own pleasure.” Petyr kissed her tenderly. “It’s probably why many wives seek a lover at some point. I’m making sure my ladywife wants no man but me,” he grinned wickedly.

Sansa rotated her hips beneath him causing him to groan softly. “So, I shouldn’t have to worry about my husband straying while we are parted?” she played seductively.

“Gods woman, you’ve ruined me to the end of my days. Why would I want another when I have you?” The way she was dragging her nails down his back and the rocking of her hips, he needed to have her. He started to match her movements and she purred. He loved the sounds she made.

He kissed her deeply and let his tongue mirror his hips. “Tell me you want me.” Petyr ground a little harder against her coaxing her legs to open more to him. “Now and always…”

“Yes,” she growled. Petyr shifted down enough to place himself at her entrance. He teased her only allowing his head inside with a gentle pumping of his hips.

“Do you love me?” he asked while his hips didn’t miss a beat. Surprise painted her face as she looked at him. In between kisses and moans, “Sansa, tell me… love me… “ Petyr groaned, “Oh sweetling, give yourself to me…”

Sansa moaned into his mouth and tried to meet his hips but his hand pressed her hipbone down denying her the attention she craved.

“Tell me, my ladywife… do you take me for your husband?” Petyr bore his grey-green eyes into her blues and stroked a little deeper.

“Oh Gods, yesss…” Petyr stilled inside her and waited.

“Yes, that you love my cock inside you or yes, you want me as your husband?” Petyr couldn’t help the smirk on his face and took enjoyment in her frustration from arousal.

Sansa huffed, “Petyr, you damn well know the answer.” Still, he didn’t move and it was killing him.

“Do I? I seem to remember you telling me several times you hated me, slapped me, and even held a blade to my throat only moments ago.” Petyr was playing with her, he knew, but he was honestly wondering what she was really feeling, if anything, for him.

“You continually provoke me to do and say such things.” She wasn’t wrong, Petyr admitted. He took bizarre delight in riling her up. He loved that fire and passion she fired at him.

“Yes, it does keep our relationship interesting, doesn’t it?” Petyr delved deeper and she hissed. “However, it doesn’t mean that I don’t love you at the same time.” He breathed into her ear as he started pumping his hips slowly. Oh Gods, she felt good.

“I love your fire…” He drove deep into her and she growled, “Your wits…” Petyr yanked her hips up harshly to meet his. “ I love that you let me give you such pleasure.” He started to thrust aggressively but not fast enough to bring her over.

“Oh Gods, I love that my child grows inside you and I want to give you many more…” He grunted at the exertion and control he was trying to maintain. Oh, why couldn’t he just say it? What was wrong with him?

“Petyr…” She was panting and holding onto him for dear life.

“Say it...” he groaned and kissed her as he picked up the tempo. “Say you love me…” He looked her in the eyes, “If you lie, I’ll know.”

He was losing himself in her. She was clenching him and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. She was as stubborn as him. What a pair they made. Two bullheaded people in love.

_In love...yes, that's what this was, he was in love._

“Oh sweetling, I love you… please tell me.” They were both sweating and he tasted the salt of her damp skin. His breathing was harsh and he couldn’t wait any longer for an answer. He reared up on his forearms and drove into her fast and hard. She opened wider for him and he was lost, “Oh yes, my love…give yourself to me…”

He dropped his head to her neck and listened to her moaning his name, begging him to make her come. He felt her pulse and clamp down hard on him and he was done. He frantically drove into her a few more times before collapsing exhausted. Their bodies were hot and sweaty and Petyr worried he was crushing her. He shifted to his side bringing her with him. Her leg was still wrapped around him as their breathing settled down. Her face buried in his chest and he heard a small sob.

Why did he always make her cry after such glorious lovemaking? He lifted her chin so their eyes would meet. Her wide eyes were filled with unshed tears. Petyr thought he could easily drown in those stormy blues. He was speechless. What else could he say to her now?

Sansa’s voice was low and husky, “I hate that I want you. I hate that I feel weak from this… this lust between us. I hate that you love me because… I don’t want to love you.” She kissed him deeply and whispered against his lips, “But I do. Oh Gods, Petyr… I wish I didn’t love you, but I do.”

Petyr held her to him and rolled onto his back. She sniffed and snuggled into his side and he wrapped both arms around her. “My love… _my ladywife_. I will give you everything you desire.”

“I’ll believe that when we are married and the North is ours alone to give to our child.” Sansa held onto him as if she were afraid to let go. “What are we going to do now?” Sansa whispered as her fears rushed forward, “I won’t pretend to know what you have mapped out…Oh Petyr, how are we ever going to make this work?”

“I will find a way,” he sighed. She really did cloud his judgment. Time in the Vale would be good for him to clear his head and make solid plans.

“You must return to me before the child is born. Promise me.”

“Yes.”

  
Sansa leaned up and looked him in the eyes. “Say it,” she demanded. “You promise me, Petyr, or so help me…”

“Shhh…” Petyr kissed her and closed his eyes hating himself for giving her false hope on promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.

“ _I promise_.”


	20. Come What May

Sansa was exhausted. A sweet ache was still between her legs reminding her of how many times they had each other this night. She smiled to herself wondering if Petyr would even be able to ride a horse in a few hours. She couldn't believe how wanton she could be when it came to him. He made her writhe, scream and fall apart beneath him. She couldn't imagine being this way with any other man. She didn't want any other man.

His soft fingers were drawing lazy circles across her stomach as he lay on his side behind her. Petyr’s breath was warm against her neck and she noted the mint and musk of his scent. Sansa never wanted to leave this bed again. Tonight, she knew. Regardless of the future that lay ahead or any obstacles they might encounter, she knew Petyr loved her. He had his own way of saying things but she knew when he meant them.

Sansa understood that this was no fairytale romance and most likely would not have a happy ending, but she would accept it for what it was. For whatever time they had, they would have it together for as long as possible. Maybe Melisandre and her visions were wrong or just lies to frighten her. Petyr lied and deceived most of his life, but with her, his truths could be more unnerving than his lies.

She snuggled closer to him and she felt him smile against her skin and press a dry kiss to her shoulder. _He loved her_. He declared it at last and somehow she knew in her heart it was the truth. She had always wanted her handsome prince but the real princes and knights were monsters. Petyr came from nothing, worked his way up the ladder and became one of the most successful, powerful and richest men in Westeros… and he did it all on his own. He took ownership of everything he did. He was never the man she ever expected to love.

He didn’t have to take care of her. Petyr could have sold her out and taken everything she had. After Stannis made him Warden and for all intents and purposes, Lord over Winterfell as well, she wanted to kill him. The more she thought about it, the more she understood that under the circumstances, Stannis was never going to hand over the North to a pregnant girl. That’s exactly what he saw, a naïve and weak little girl with nothing but a name. Petyr trusted her. He knew she was stronger than she gave herself credit for. He was the only man that believed in her. He wouldn’t leave her to run Winterfell if he didn’t think she could handle it.

He killed, lied and above all tried to keep her safe the best he could. She was furious about Ramsay in the beginning because she didn't fully understand why he did it the way he did. Nothing he did was meant to ever hurt her, but there were risks involved with every move they made. Staying with Petyr was even riskier but the alternative was unthinkable. She couldn’t imagine ever being without him. He was a part of her now and not just the child that grew inside her. Petyr was the piece of her that was missing. She could go it alone if she had to but she didn’t want to. They were at their best when together. Together, they would rule the North. They would take everything and with Jon as Lord Commander at Castle Black, Sansa felt she was secure. The Lannisters were a thousand leagues away and it didn’t matter if Stannis took Kings Landing or not. The south would never be able to fight the north. This time the north was stronger and with Petyr over the Vale, they were a formidable force.

The thought of Petyr leaving in a couple of hours made her heart sink. It could be months before he returned. Sansa was scared to death of carrying this child in the throes of her first real winter. She didn’t want to give birth alone but she had to trust in his word. He would come back before the child was born. He promised.

“What has your mind so occupied?” Petyr whispered kissing the back of her neck sweetly. He pulled her tighter against his body and sighed in contentment. He was an insufferable mind reader.

Sansa turned around and faced him. He had beautiful eyes. They were the softest grey with flecks of emerald green that stared into her soul. She caressed his face memorizing every line and kissed him reverently. She couldn’t imagine kissing or making love to another man. She didn’t care he was so much older in years. His experience and years were far more desirable than the pretty faces of all those young men she used to fancy. Petyr was handsome in his own way but most importantly he loved and respected her. He didn’t want a silly wife. Petyr wanted an equal even if it meant his own doom.

“I was wondering… if you could choose…” Sansa asked meekly, “Would you prefer a boy or a girl?”

Petyr smiled and for a moment, there was a glint of something in his eyes. Was it happiness? But it disappeared just as quick as his eyes narrowed. “Sweetling, don’t you know all men only want sons to carry on their lineage?” Petyr leaned in close with a threatening glare and added, “It best be a boy…or…”

“Or what?” Sansa nervously asked.

Petyr’s voice dropped an octave and Sansa was fixed on his lips. “ _Or_ … you’ll be condemned to share my bed until you give me one.” The corner of his mouth twitched and his eyes were full of mirth. Sansa jabbed him in the ribs and he grunted with a chuckle. He kissed her softly and held her to his chest. “My love, it matters not to me. Son or daughter, I will be a proud father and they will have the loveliest mother in Westeros.” Sansa smiled as Petyr leaned back and tilted her chin up. “Do you know what I really think it will be?” He traced her cheek down to her lips. “I see you, with your eyes like the sea and rosy cheeks… what you must have looked like before the Lannisters and Kings Landing had done things to you. A girl I could spoil just as I wanted to spoil you…”

Sansa felt tears welling up in her eyes. “I had a dream… a little girl tugging at my skirts and she had long, black curls and my eyes… but your nose… “ she sniffed, “and your smile.”

Petyr smiled and his eyes lit up, “Then you have your answer.” He kissed her and wiped her tears away. “A daughter it will be. She will have your beauty, grace, wits… and my instincts. She will be strong and powerful. Smarter than any man and more than ruthless.” Petyr held her close. “One thing you taught me, that a beautiful and intelligent daughter is worth more than any pampered son.”

“Then we best be ready to die young, if we’re her parents… “ Sansa japed, “Surely, she’ll kill us both to claim her inheritance.”

Petyr howled with laughter and kissed her passionately. “I do love you, sweetling.”

“And I, you.” Sansa smiled and sighed, “I will miss being called that after she is born. She will be your sweetling then.” She could imagine Petyr being the doting father of a sweet, little girl. He would hopelessly spoil her and he had the wealth and mind to do it.

“No, you will be my sweetling until my dying day.” Petyr cupped her face and rested his forehead against hers. They were silent for the longest time and finally, he let out a huff of breath. “As much as I don’t want to, I need to go back to my chambers and make ready to leave.” He kissed her forehead lightly and rolled out of bed. Sansa watched him walk stark naked into the bath to retrieve his dressing gown as she found her shift on the floor. By the time he returned she was sitting on the edge of the bed fidgeting with the ties on her shift. He stood for a moment and stared at her with a grin. She noted every smile tonight reached his eyes and she blushed.

Petyr picked up a hairbrush from her vanity and sat next to her repeating words he said to her the first night she spent with him before the wedding. “There is something I must do first… because you look every bit a well-bedded woman.” He chuckled as he pulled the brush through her auburn locks. She cherished every sensation. He ran his fingers through her soft hair and Sansa leaned into his hand.

“You’ll be strong without me,” Petyr whispered in her ear and kissed her cheek. He stood and made his way to her door.

“Petyr…” Sansa stalled, she didn’t know what to say. She wanted him to stay but knew he couldn’t. He smiled as if he could read her mind.

“I’ll return before too long. Don’t worry. Everything will be all right, no matter what comes our way.” Petyr stepped closer and his kiss took her breath away. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.

“Come what may,” she breathed against his lips.

She could taste the saltiness of her tears in her mouth and opened her eyes. The intensity of his gaze stilled her breath. “Sansa, I will always come for you.” His voice was steady and true. “Do you believe me?”

Sansa felt another tear fall as she nodded her head. “You better. You’ll have a wife and child by the time you return.” She tried to smile but inside she couldn’t bear to let him go.

He kissed each tear-streaked cheek and then softly on her mouth. “I’ll see you downstairs shortly.” Petyr wiped her tears away with the pads of his thumbs and smiled.

“Don’t let them see you’ve been crying.”

With that, he kissed her forehead and left her alone in her room.

* * *

Petyr’s guards took his trunk down to the courtyard. The snow was deep enough that carts and wagons were useless. Thank the Gods he had the foresight to have sleighs made in time.

When he walked outside, Stannis, his family and army were ready in wait. Sansa was dressed in a white fur-lined cloak that he gave her and looked beautiful. He knew they had to be on guard with such an audience. Petyr walked over to her and bowed kissing her hand. “My Lady, take care. I’ll return as soon as it is possible. You should have fresh supplies arriving soon from Gulltown to White Harbor. I’ll leave some soldiers here and a small garrison at the port. By the time I reach the Vale, the mountain roads will be most treacherous.”

Sansa smiled, “Thank Lord Baelish, for everything you’ve done for me. I will do my best to watch over the North in your absence. You are Lord Protector of Winterfell and Warden now of the entire North. No one could handle it better than you.”

 _My clever girl_ , Petyr grinned. He knew that wasn’t for him. It was all show for Stannis and once again Sansa was brilliant in her delivery. Petyr still couldn’t believe people thought she was a silly, empty-headed girl. No one but Petyr knew what a cunning creature she was.

Petyr mounted his horse and watched as she curtsied and said her goodbyes to Selyse, Shireen and even the red woman. Something was being said between Sansa and Melisandre but Petyr was too far away to hear. Melisandre drifted over to Stannis and they spoke for a moment before she too, mounted her horse.

Finally, Stannis stood before Sansa and she bowed deeply. “Your Grace, I wish you speed and a safe journey. Surely, the Lord of Light will guide you to a great victory for us all. Whatever I may do to serve you, I am at your disposal, my King.”

Stannis tilted her chin up to look at him. “Lady Sansa, I wish you well. I know it will be a difficult winter. You made the right decision, my dear.” Petyr was confused for a moment. So, Stannis believed she was accepting of Petyr as Protector and Warden, which was good. “One more thing, Lady Stark. I have spoken to your brother, Lord Commander about this at length as well as Lord Baelish. You will have a shipment of dragonglass sent North. Lord Snow, feels he can contain the threat at The Wall but to be sure, arm your people with these special stone blades this winter.”

Sansa looked to Petyr and back to Stannis with confusion. “Your Grace? I’m afraid I don’t understand. It is the wildlings again?”

“There are men, north of the Wall that are different creatures. The Men of the Nights Watch have found that conventional weapons do not harm them, except for dragonglass. “ Sansa nodded and Petyr felt like an idiot for not telling her. He thought Stannis was listening to tall tales about mythical creatures from old folklore in the North. Considering Stannis was a follower of Melisnadre and her strange God, Petyr gave it no attention, thinking it was fairytale rubbish.

“My Lady, I’ll have everything sent to you for your protection. Swords and daggers are being made with obsidian from Dragonstone for your armory. I left detailed instructions for you in my solar.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Petyr did leave instructions, plans and every detail for Sansa for while he was away, but he made light of the ‘dragonglass’ weapons to fight off this dead army Stannis talked about. If this Jon Snow believed, perhaps he wasn’t as smart as Petyr thought. Or the Men of the Nights Watch were going mad in their solitude.

“I’ll take every precaution, your Grace and await the Lord Protectors return.” Sansa curtsied and Stannis seemed satisfied bowing to kiss her hand.

Stannis mounted his stallion and Davos gave the order to move out the army south to Moat Cailin. Petyr waited for Stannis and his family to ride out the gate before he trotted over to Sansa. He leaned down and gave her a wide grin and took her hand to kiss once again. “ _Come what may_ , “he whispered so that only she could hear. Sansa nodded and he turned his horse and galloped out the gate leaving her behind.

* * *

The weather had been forgiving as the army made its way south down the KingsRoad. Stannis told him that they made better time from Winterfell to Moat Cailin than travelling from Castle Black. Petyr worried some that if the winter snows continued, it would make it more difficult for him to return. In a few months, the KingsRoad could be unpassable. It would be wise to consider the sea as the best option. He would need to send word to White Harbor and have more men deployed there to keep the route open. If worse came to worse, he could get Sansa out by ship and head to The Fingers and make way back to the Vale. Buying up merchant ships was one of the best decisions he made, Petyr thought.

He and Stannis would part at the turn to The Twins. Petyr would head southeast to the Vale and Stannis would make for the Iron Islands. Stannis hated the Greyjoys and they seemed to be next on his list before making war on Kings Landing. Petyr didn’t think it was wise to waste his army on such a task. Balon was no great threat to anyone anymore. Petyr had saved his son, Theon, to return home but felt he was literally half the man he used to be. If they could be made an ally, even for a short time, Balon’s ships could be used to take out Lannisport instead. Petyr counselled Stannis as much as he dared but in the end, it really didn’t matter if Stannis survived or not. What mattered was that Petyr now had the North. Cersei certainly wouldn’t send soldiers to Winterfell during a winter and he knew the Lannisters were so depleted of gold and allies; they wouldn’t have the resources to even protect their own now let alone sent troops north.

He continued his alliance with Olenna. Highgarden still had money, power and resources. Petyr had already heard that Cersei had imprisoned Loras with the help of the High Sparrow and his Faith Militant. Petyr couldn’t help but laugh at it all. He didn’t need to lift a finger because Cersei was condemning herself. All he had to do was send a raven to Olenna with the information of Cersei’s debauchery and surely the Faith, who had control of the capital, would most likely imprison her as well. Cersei made enemies of the Tyrells and armed a group of fanatics she couldn’t control, Petyr couldn’t have wished for better if he planned it himself.

When they arrived at the fork in the road to The Twins, Petyr gathered his own men and supplies for the trek east. Stannis road over to him as his army began its march westward. “Lord Baelish, I will keep contact with ravens to the Eyrie and Harrenhal. Once I finish Balon Greyjoy, we will meet at Harrenhal to move south to Kings Landing,” Stannis commanded.

“Yes, your Grace. I sent word before we left Winterfell to have reinforcements sent to Riverrun, just in case. Once we meet in Harrenhal, we will combine forces. I’m sure once the word has gotten out along the Riverlands, we will pick up more bannermen to your cause.” Petyr thought for a moment and decided to try again with his advice, “Your Grace, I still would ask that you reconsider making Balon a short-term ally and use his ships. It seems to be a terrible waste of the best seamen that you could use against Kevan Lannister. I feel confident that the Tyrells will side with us because of Cersei’s betrayal to them. If not, their army doesn’t stand a chance as it is. I don’t think Olenna is the type to sacrifice her family for a crown they know that cannot win. With both Margery and her brother Loras set for trial by the Faith in the near future and Cersei imprisoned and soon to follow will be the removal of her incestuous son… “ Petyr paused and gauged Stannis reaction and saw Melisandre riding over to them. “You could always kill Balon later… when you no longer need him.”

“The Lord of Light, has already set a path we are to follow. Kings blood has shown him the way and Balon Greyjoy is a traitor to Stannis and therefore must die.” Melisandre interrupted. Petyr smiled politely but wondered who was the king and who was the servant here. This woman had quite a lot of influence on Stannis and it would most likely be this would be king’s downfall.

Petyr let it go, for now, if Stannis succeeded in the West, it would make no difference. The Vale’s forces would make or break this coming war. If Stannis wanted to waste his time with a petty vengeance that didn’t help him with his end game, so be it. It only gave Petyr more time to make his own plans. “Of course my Lady,” Petyr nodded to Melisandre. “I am the king’s servant. It is whatever he wishes, by all means.”

Stannis seemed to think it over and Petyr glanced at Melisandre. Her gaze never left Petyr. She was studying him. Petyr kept his cool demeanour and awaited Stannis’ decision.

“We will make for the Iron Islands, Lord Baelish, as planned. I expect your forces to meet me at Harrenhal, or it will be your head on a spike. I made you Warden of the North and Protector of Winterfell. Remember that. You might want to take note of your Lady Stark as being a loyal servant that does what they’re told.” Stannis abruptly left meeting with Davos in the distance but Melisandre had not moved.

She rode closer so that she was alongside Petyr. She continued to study him in silence and finally, Petyr cleared the air. “Was there something you wanted, my lady?” When she didn’t answer, Petyr looked to where the army was marching away. “You best not wait long, the king will worry about you. I don’t wish to be responsible for you becoming lost.”

“I’m not the one you should be worried about, Lord Baelish.” This time Petyr was studying her, wondering what she was up to. “Be careful, _Lord Protector_ or you won’t have anything left to protect. “

Petyr smiled grimly, “Are you threatening me, my lady?”

“Serve your true king and be loyal.” Melisandre smiled sweetly and a chill that wasn’t the winter cold overcame Petyr. “A loyal servant _does as they are told_.”

Melisandre tossed a small object and Petyr caught it deftly. Opening his gloved hand, a small glass vial lay with trace amounts of liquid at the bottom. “And what am I to do with this, my lady?”

“Just a token, _a reminder_ … That as I said, a loyal servant does as the king instructs her. You should follow her example.”

There was only one command that Stannis wanted of Sansa, Petyr concluded and his stomach lurched. He looked back to the priestess sitting smugly upon her horse. She grinned with satisfaction, “I’m surprised you didn’t know, Lord Baelish. You two seemed… _very close.”_ Petyr gripped the empty vial in his fist and fixed a glare onto this devil woman _. “_ It’s a shame she’ll be barren now, but at least take comfort she won’t be burdened with an unwanted child during such a winter… especially by a man she hated _.”_

Melisandre circled around Petyr, “Don’t take it too harshly, my lord. Surely, perhaps she has every intention of telling her _uncle..._ when he returns to Winterfell.” Without another word, Melisandre galloped in the direction of Stannis and his army.

Petyr was frozen. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. His men looked to him for the next command but it didn’t come. After a time, Petyr closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He turned his horse around and gazed at the North. A storm was brewing and he knew he couldn’t go back. They had very little supplies left to make it to Lord Harroway’s Town before going to the Bloody Gate.

“M’lord?” his captain asked warily.

Petyr was silent and turned his horse and started heading south on the frost-covered road.

All Petyr could think about was, who played him better? Was it the priestess who seemed to know more than she should? Or the young girl he taught how to play the game so well, that he was blindsided and didn’t even know it.

  
  



	21. Wine & Lamentation

Petyr was finished for the day. He laid his head back on his leather chair and winced. The headache that plagued him wasn’t dissipating any time soon. He polished off the last of his hot mulled wine and gazed out his window overlooking the sea. The sunset was beautiful as it glistened on the rolling waves. He had been in Gulltown for months handling various trades and preparations for not only the war in the South but the sustainability of the Vale and North.

Before Petyr even reached the Bloody Gate, a ship laden with soldiers, provisions and Stannis’ damned ‘dragonglass’ made landfall at White Harbor. Half of his garrison would hold the port city while the other marched to Winterfell. Petyr had received regular reports from White Harbor but nothing from Winterfell. Sansa sent no word and nothing was known from the soldiers headed there. Petyr’s captain warned him of the terrible weather North of the coast. That it was entirely possible that the core of men never made it to Winterfell or was not able to send word. Any raven they sent never returned. The last report that Petyr received today, said that more villagers were coming to the city for food and because of problems with “wildlings”. Petyr thought Jon, the Lord Commander, had a pact with the wildlings from what Stannis told him. If there were trouble, Sansa would not likely receive any help from Castle Black that was surely cut off completely for the winter.

The Kingsroad was impassable north of Moat Cailin, so the only route available that was shorter, less dangerous and not directly through the mountains was from White Harbor. Yet, even his own men seemed to have disappeared along the way. Petyr couldn’t think clearly, ever since he left Lyn Corbray leading the promised Vale army with Stannis from Harrenhal, he had begun drinking too much.

Petyr convinced Stannis, that the former Master of Coin was no military man. The new Warden and Protector of the North was better utilized in keeping the North strong, building allies, making money and providing the much-needed supplies for winning a war. After all, Petyr was still Protector and informally the Regent of the Vale and Riverlands. He needed to keep Lord Royce in the Vale because without Petyr, young Lord Robert would be vulnerable, not to mention Lady Sansa was most likely trapped in a heavy winter at Winterfell.

_Sansa_

Months of no contact made Petyr’s mind run wild. When it was quiet, like now, he could hear the red woman’s words echo in his head. If she was to be believed, Sansa could have terminated the pregnancy at any time before he left. Perhaps that was why she fainted in the courtyard that day. She met with Melisandre in her chambers and there she must have received the vial and the burned hand. He wondered if this priestess filled Sansa’s head with nonsense just as she seemed to do with Stannis and his wife.

It didn’t bother Petyr so much that she would have done it, but that she didn’t tell him. She seemed to have wanted this child very much. Their last night together, Petyr remembered that it wasn’t as hard to convince her to wed him as he thought it would be. At the time, he didn’t think much of it because he was too engrossed in making love to his ladywife. That night he went to her chamber to win her back and instead she played him like a well-tuned instrument. Petyr did tell her a good player would have sent him packing back to the Vale. Perhaps that was her plan all along.

Petyr walked to the nearby table and opened another bottle of wine. He hadn’t felt that annoying ticking silenced yet in his brain, when it stopped he could finally relax. His evenings were empty and lonely with only the comfort of Arbor Gold in his glass.

He sat back down at his desk and looked over a map of Westeros.

Stannis was already encountering trouble on his way to Kings Landing. The Tyrells were giving him a good fight for the throne. They had money, resources and enough bannermen to make Stannis work hard to win. Even with Cersei still imprisoned, Kevan Lannister sent his forces to join with the Reach and soldiers still loyal to the crown in Kings Landing. If Stannis lost, Petyr still had his alliance with Olenna. Petyr, himself wasn’t with Stannis but sent Lyn Corbray instead. Corbray had made it well known that he did not support Petyr as Protector of the Vale. What others did not know was Lyn was one of Petyr’s men. Bought and paid for. Petyr would know who was saying what in the south while he stayed in the North. Petyr never trusted Stannis but to have a man claim no loyalty to the new Warden would be an asset to priceless information indeed. If Stannis lost, Petyr still had enough reinforcements and allies to claim he stayed out of the fight and pledge support to the Tyrells. He didn’t worry about the Lannisters. Cersei, her son and her family would be dead or dethroned soon enough. Whoever took over the Iron Throne next would still wipe out Casterly Rock and House Lannister. Petyr only had to wait and see who the victor would be.

The Riverlands, Trident, Vale and now the North belonged to Petyr and Sansa. Or at least he hoped it did. It had been over five months since he left, he thought to himself. Petyr traced the road travelled from Winterfell to the Twins and back to the Vale. There he waited as forces were sent to Riverrun. Finally, he made his way with Corbray to meet Stannis at Harrenhal before moving on to Gulltown. Petyr held back enough forces from Stannis to keep the Vale and the North well-armed. Gulltown wasn’t just a merchant port anymore, but also the starting point for his new fleet. With winter in full storm, the sea was going to be one of his strongest assets. Petyr had enough allies to cut off Kings Landing and Lannisport with a full embargo. They all underestimated him. Petyr was the silent ally and enemy and played them all against each other. He had enough money, supplies, and now power to control the game.

It didn’t matter who won the South, because Petyr could still inflict pain or be the saviour. The North was more than provisioned and no house from the South was going to go north for anything.

Petyr looked at the map, finding Winterfell and caressed it like a lover. He didn’t want to admit it, but he missed her. This was the longest they had ever been apart from each other since they left Kings Landing and he didn’t like it. The wine was working its magic and his mind wandered again. He pictured her speaking with Melisandre in the courtyard and perhaps she was telling them what they wanted to hear. But that nagging feeling scratched at the back of his brain. Why didn’t she tell him? He would have played along. Why would she keep that from him if she weren’t playing him as well?

The vial was still sitting on his desk after all this time. He had a maester from the Vale test its contents and it was believed to be a variation of Moon Tea. Petyr remembered what that did to Lysa those many years ago and grimaced. Melisandre said Sansa would be barren now and Petyr remembered Sansa asking him if he would be upset if she couldn’t bare any more children. There was too much said in that time between them that bothered Petyr now. He honestly didn’t know what was going on for the first time. Either Sansa couldn’t contact him or did not want to.

He promised her that he would return before the child was born _if_ there was a child. The way she talked of having a daughter, and how she loved him… it hurt Petyr all the more if it was all just a lie. He told the truth that night. He did love her and he liked the idea more and more of her giving him a son or daughter to love. For the first time, he saw a future that was beyond the game. He could see Sansa as his wife and the mother of his children. It was a dream that could be intoxicating if he drank enough of it just like the wine in his hand.

Strange, Petyr thought going away from Winterfell would clear his head and instead he was filling it with wine and suspicion. The game had kept him busy and knew he would never have been able to return in two months that he estimated to her. He hoped he would return before she gave birth but a part of him, a proud and stubborn part didn’t want to return only to find out there was no child nor a wife waiting for him.

_I will always come for you_

Fear struck him as well. She could be in trouble and not be able to reach him. He sent soldiers to her and knew nothing since. What Petyr always dreaded finally came true. The game was no longer the most important thing to him. He couldn’t detach his emotions any more. He cared… no loved Sansa. He needed to know she was all right. He needed to know once and for all.

Petyr calculated in his head. If he left immediately he would make it to White Harbor and then to Winterfell before… if he were lucky, just before she was due. He made her a promise, and for better or for worse, he was going to keep this one.


	22. And Death Comes With It

Sansa lay in bed on her side caressing her stomach. Her chamber was warm but the cold still found a way to seep through and give her a chill. The snows were heavy again today along with heavy hearts around Winterfell.

The maester suggested she restrict her movements for the next few days after experiencing mild contractions while climbing the stairs from great hall yesterday. The maester estimated she would be due around a month’s time but in all reality, she could give birth any day now. Eight months, that was how long it had been since she made love with Petyr for the first time. It had been almost six months since he left her to march with Stannis to the South and the last time she ever heard directly from him again. He told her he would try to return within a couple of months but a few weeks after he left, a massive storm took the North and all hope of that quickly died.

When she saw Vale soldiers crest the snowy hill and make their way to Winterfell a month later, Sansa’s heart soared. Somehow, Petyr found a way to come back to her just as he promised. Only when they entered the gate did Sansa realize it was only supplies and soldiers that Petyr dispatched to her aid. Much needed food, provisions, weapons and men were welcome after Stannis’ army practically used everything Petyr originally brought to save them from winter. Nothing could cure the emptiness in her heart his absence created.

The supplies couldn’t have come any sooner. Sansa was taking in more and more of her small folk and villagers coming to the castle for help. Stories of strange wildlings and dead men killing whole villages just south of Castle Black and the deep forest clans were rampant. Petyr had sent a large crate of ‘dragonglass’ from Dragonstone per Stannis’ command. Sansa wondered what Jon was dealing with at The Wall. She didn’t believe in the old stories about the White Walkers from many winters past and thought people from these small villages were not very educated and relied on folklore to explain things.

Months later, Sansa was beginning to really fear that these mystical creatures just might be real. Too many people were flocking to Winterfell now all with the same horrible stories on their lips. She was worried about how long she could continue to support the growing number of people needing food, shelter and protection. Sansa sent raven after raven to the Vale and never received a reply.

Petyr wouldn’t have abandoned her, would he? He seemed genuinely happy and wanted to wed her as soon as possible upon his return. So many questions plagued her already stressed mind. What if he was injured? Did something happen on the way to the Vale? Was he even in the Vale? Did Stannis demand Petyr ride with him to battle at Kings Landing? Was he dead?

The last letter she received was one that from a raven when Stannis’ army passed Moat Cailin. Petyr told her he would part with Stannis at The Twins, make for the Vale and reunite with him again at Harrenhal. He wrote that he already sent more provisions from Gulltown by ship via White Harbor and would arrive in a month or so and that he would contact her soon. After that came no more letters or word of any kind.

The snows were heavy and it was entirely possible that the ravens couldn’t make it south anymore and vice versa. When the Vale soldiers arrived and were rested, Sansa ordered a few riders to return to White Harbor to deliver messages to Petyr as quickly as they could. It had been weeks on end when they finally guessed that the men never made it. Perhaps they died in the storms, by wildlings or something even worse. Everyone felt trapped in Winterfell. She knew the winter would be difficult but somehow, Sansa never imagined it would be like this.

She looked down at her swollen belly weighty with child. For a moment she felt the tiniest ping of regret. Did she choose the right path? Soon she would give birth and Sansa was scared out of her mind. What would she do next? How would she provide for a child and all these people? What if it got worse? Could they escape or were they doomed to die here?

She wanted to tell Petyr he was wrong. She wasn’t strong. It was one thing to say such words and convince others, but it was different to see desperation and know not what to do. She was vulnerable. She was a naïve girl being tested by her first real winter and all the problems of a great house. No, not just House Stark but also the entire North was relying on her. Everyone was looking to her for answers and she had none to give. Sansa needed Petyr. She wanted him to advise her, tell her what to do next. She wanted him to lie next to her and tell her everything was going to be all right.

Sansa pulled one of Petyr’s crumpled silk tunics from under her linen pillow. He left it in her room and it still smelled of him. She ordered her maids not to clean it for fear that his scent would disappear. It was all she had left that reminded her of him. Sansa brought it to her nose and inhaled. Sandalwood and hints of mint filled her senses so strongly that a small tear ran down her cheek.

The first two months passed quickly and Sansa wasn’t as upset as she thought she might be. She was realistic that it would take him longer to return in this weather. Weeks went by in a flurry and then months came and went and Sansa fell into despair. Five months later, she truly began to wonder if Petyr was dead or even worse had forgotten her. For days on end, Sansa would stay in her chambers refusing to leave. Some of the household guessed it was due to her pregnancy but a few were questioning Sansa’s ability to run her family’s home. One by one, servants would disappear or a few soldiers would desert and Sansa worried how much more her people could stand. Abandoning Winterfell and making for White Harbor or trying for the south clouded her mind more often. She wasn’t sure if she was overly emotional due to the difficult pregnancy or if she should listen to this nagging instinct to leave before it was too late. Now she was too far along with child. Travelling, especially in this freezing snow, would surely put her and the baby at risk.

Sansa winced. The baby wasn’t giving her any rest today. It had a habit of kicking just below her ribs most of the time now. Then it would turn somehow and push against other organs. She smiled to herself. Petyr’s child was restless and no matter how she prayed, begged and pleaded, it was stubborn and didn’t pay her discomfort any mind. Her lower back was always in pain and she couldn’t find relief most days. Sansa wondered how her mother managed to have so many children. It was months of hell with moments of sheer joy but the distress and sickness usually won out. She remembered Melisandre’s words that if she had this child, she would never have another. At the time, Sansa was mortified at the thought; now a month away from giving birth she wondered if she would ever want to do this again. She smiled thinking that she could bed Petyr every night and never have to worry about getting pregnant again. That smile faded quickly as tears brimmed her eyes again. Sansa hit her pillow. Her emotions were that of a madwoman. She was happy one moment only to cry hysterically the next. Month after month Sansa was giving up hope that Petyr would return to her. She started to believe that she was now truly alone and she would raise this child on her own. That is if they even survived this winter. It had not been a year into winter yet and if they didn’t receive any more supplies and help, she was convinced they could very well die here. Maybe Melisandre’s vision was correct. Death came with this child.

The kicking started again and Sansa huffed in pain and annoyance. She cursed Petyr for getting her with child. Damn him. Men had no idea what it was like to give them children. They got to enjoy the pleasure of making one and being a father when they felt like it. Everything else fell upon the woman. If she ever did see Petyr again, she would slap him for good measure. Sansa gently rubbed her belly in soothing circles like Petyr did the night before he left. She hummed an old folk song and after a time, the child settled down.

The candle flickered low on the table next to her bed. She would try to sleep and tomorrow she had to figure out what to do. The light danced on Petyr’s books and two blades resting on the table within her reach. One, was the dagger he gave to her the night before she wed Ramsay and the other was a longer blade made of dragonglass with a silver hilt. She wondered what Petyr would say if he saw it. Would he think she was a superstitious idiot believing in silly stories?

Sansa spent many hours on end in Petyr’s solar reading and going over all the instructions he left for her. There was a short mention of the shipment of dragonglass but his words were full of mockery. Stannis seemed deadly serious that day in the courtyard and she knew Jon well enough that he wouldn’t lie about such things. If Jon was concerned, Sansa felt she should heed this warning. Jon said these blades were the only thing that killed these White Walkers. Even though Sansa had doubts, every time she felt the baby move, she thought it was better to be safe and prepared. She carried both blades everywhere she went. Petyr might think she was mad, but Petyr wasn’t here to protect her.

_I will always come for you_

She had believed him. He promised her that he would come. Sansa held the silk clothing close and shut her eyes. _He must be dead_. Tears came again and like so many nights before, Sansa cried herself to sleep.

* * *

The sail from Gulltown was fraught with harsh weather especially as they rounded the Fingers. It figured, Petyr thought. That damned home of his would continue to cause him grief. Petyr wasn’t sure if the voyage was taking too long in reality or because of his growing impatience to reach Northern shores. When White Harbor could be seen in the distance, Petyr’s exasperation grew. He needed to get to Winterfell and it felt like time and world was against him.

Before they docked, Petyr could sense the panic in the air. White Harbor was not Gulltown, but still of modest size for a port city. He knew enough about the town but what he saw filled him with worry. There were people everywhere trying to book passage out of the North.

The city streets were overrun and it looked as though the entire town was evacuating. Petyr gave explicit orders that his ships were to make way further back into the harbour and hold, not letting anyone aboard. They would return on his signal and his signal only. The Vale garrison Petyr deployed months earlier was struggling to maintain calm in the city. Looting, mutinies and the vast amount of people flooding the city were overwhelming them. Petyr was to meet with his commanding officer in order to make arrangements to travel back to Winterfell and his wife.

“M’lord, it’s not a question of the men’s courage… “ the man paused, “it’s just the hopelessness of the whole situation. We never heard back from the men we sent to Lady Stark. It’s been months and no word at all from Winterfell. We have our hands busy here and more refugees arrive every day running from the north.”

Petyr sat back and sipped his hot wine. “Captain, you’re telling me a march to Winterfell is impossible, yet poor villagers are making their way here in droves _on foot._ Certainly, not all roads are impassable. If they can get here, there has to be a way to get to Winterfell. Even if the roads are useless, there are alternatives to marching.”

“Lord Baelish, many men have deserted in the last couple of weeks. I do not command the men you need. Everyone is running in fear of the dead army from The Wall. The word is Castle Black is abandoned and the Night’s Watch all but dead.” He looked at Petyr solemnly. “My Lord Protector, perhaps it is time to evacuate the remaining people out of White Harbor, for I fear the North is lost. The northerners have been begging for boats to leave and I’ve sent as many as I could across The Bite…”

Petyr lips formed a tight, thin line as he glared at this coward of a man. “You’re telling me, the Warden of the North and Lord Protector of Winterfell, that it is a lost cause and we should run from some phantom army that exists in only storybooks of old?” His fingers tapped along the weathered wood of the captain’s desk in irritation.

“I – well, m’lord. I’ll leave it for you to decide of course. But I only know what I have seen these past few months.” He answered nervously.

“So, you have seen one of these… White Walkers, have you? And how did the dragonglass serve you?” Petyr goaded. He was getting very tired of these superstitions and old fables told to frighten children.

“No, m’lord. But the villagers swear… “

“Ah, so I’m to the take the word of simple-minded folk that believe in fairies and trolls.” The captain tried to retort but Petyr put his hand up to stop him. “Captain, did it occur to you that these people cannot handle the winter and are telling you stories to allow them into the city and ship them south for nothing?”

The man was silent and Petyr have had enough and sighed. “I have eight ships with me now including two unloading supplies I intend to take to Winterfell along with men to hold the city under _my_ orders. You have been here too long and frankly, I do not trust that you’ll be here upon my return. You and your men will go to Winterfell along with fifty of my own men. We leave tomorrow at first light. We will take this dragonglass with us so your men will feel protection from fairytales.”

“M’lord, it will take several days to reach Winterfell in the snow if we’re lucky. Do you honestly think we’ll make it there without losing most of our men and horses? I understand Winterfell is important, but if White Harbor is close to being overrun, surely Winterfell is either being deserted as we speak or…”

“ _Captain…”_ Petyr sneered, “Where are we?”

“White Harbor, m’lord?” he answered nervously.

“And who is lord over these lands and the river?” Petyr spoke as if he were educating a child.

“Why… _you,_ m’lord,” the officer replied with confusion.

“I may be Warden, but Lord Manderly has been in control of these lands a long time. Did you even attempt to seek his advice before _marching_ your men to Winterfell?” Petyr’s eyes were fixed on the scarrd man before him.

“I – no, m’lord. I thought it best to move quickly before the weather worsened.”

“And by not thinking, you most likely sentenced those men and my lady to their deaths. Because any moron would have known to use the _fucking river_!” Petyr stood up so quickly his chair toppled over. “Where is Lord Wyman?”

“I know not, m’lord.”

“Find him and bring him to me. _Tonight_.” Petyr commanded. The Vale captain rose and opened the door to leave and Petyr spoke with his back turned, “Do not disappoint me.”

Petyr didn’t have to wait long, he was picking at his supper when the door opened and the portly, old lord waddled in.

“Ah, Lord Baelish, didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you were still in the south… I could use your help right now. Yes, these are troubling times, I need all the help I can get. I need every ship.” The man sat down and poured himself a glass of wine.

“Well, perhaps we can help each other.” Petyr smiled grimly. “I need to get to Winterfell as quickly as possible. Help me, and I’ll give you what you need.”

“Winterfell. _Winterfell_? Are you mad, my good man? Have you not heard? The Wall has been defeated; the Nights Watch dead, every Northern soul is fleeing south in fear of this dead army. I have more refugees than I can possibly handle. For the Gods sake, I even have wildlings, _wildlings_ , here in _my_ city.” Manderly exasperated. “If that lot is running, then we’re fucked.” He said under his breath.

Petyr sighed; Wyman was an odd fellow but not a mad man. Petyr had to really consider the preposterous against every logical bone in his body. “Manderly, my wife is still up there. If it is as bad as you say it is, I need to get to her. She is with child. I sent reinforcements months ago, but my idiot captain tells me nothing has been heard from Winterfell since. I do not even know if the men reached them. If there is even a slight chance, I need to get there. I will give you what you need. Leave me two ships until I return and you can have the rest and I will give you and your house sanctuary in the Vale. “

“Wife?” and it dawned on the old man, “Ah, you married that sweet Stark girl, did you?” Manderly’s eyes flashed with a vulgarity that Petyr did not care for. “Can’t say that I blame you there, man. She was a scrumptious little thing. Must have been nice to bed that one. Eh, those Tully’s… they are ripe and fertile.” Manderly caught Petyr’s disinterest in lewd conversation about his wife. “Baelish, I feel for you. I do. But is your little wife’s cunny worth dying over? I wouldn’t be surprised if Winterfell wasn’t already sacked. You’re a young man still. You can marry another sweet girl and have children. Going back up there is suicide.”

“You were loyal to the Starks once.” Petyr pointed out.

“Don’t tell me about my loyalties. I fought for Ned and then again for his daughter, with you I might add. But this is suicide. She is most likely dead already.” Manderly huffed. “If you cared so much for this wife of yours, you should not have left her there alone in winter knowing she carried your seed. I thought you were a savvy man.”

“Stannis demanded I leave with him to build an army to attack Kings Landing. Someone needed to stay in the North. I wasn’t planning on being away this long.” Petyr wondered why he was explaining himself. “I don’t normally believe in ghosts, fairies, and the walking dead with their own army.”

“Well, you southerners never did believe in much.” Manderly took a swig of wine.

“I’m from the Fingers, Wyman. Not exactly located at the tip of Dorne.”

Manderly, chuckled. “Baelish, anyone south of Moat Cailin is a southerner to me.”

Petyr sighed, “I'm asking you, please. Give me four barges to go up river. I’ll buy them if I have to. I will go to Winterfell, with or without your help.”

“I say, she must be worth dying for,” the old man smiled. “I didn’t peg you as the romantic type, Littlefinger.” Manderly finished his wine and set it on the table. “I will give you what you need. I do have two warships left hidden up the White Knife. They are yours as well. You’ll need them. I still think you’re a mad man, but I’m getting the better end of the deal.”

“I need everything by tomorrow.” Petyr finished his wine in one gulp and looked at the old man across from him. “Good luck to you, Wyman.”

“It’s you, I fear, that needs luck my friend,” Manderly said somberly.

Petyr stood up and left the room making way to his bedchamber for the night. He never understood why people believed in gods and monsters and fabled stories. He would believe Daenerys had dragons when he saw them with his own eyes. He laughed to himself, too bad she hasn’t invaded yet; he could use those dragons to come north and melt these so-called white walkers. Problem solved. Petyr sat on the bed and reached for a glass of wine. It was sour in his mouth and he spat it out. It was for the best, he thought, as he loosened his doublet, removing his belt and dagger. Petyr unsheathed it and danced the weapon along his fingers. Taking the tip of the blade between his thumb and forefinger he flung the dagger across the room lodging it deep in the wood column by the door. He smiled sadly. He was no swordsman, but had a deft hand with a dagger. He remembered telling Sansa that most men did not fear daggers but they could be even more deadly in the right hands. It was a shame he didn’t have this skill when he duelled Brandon those many years ago, Petyr thought. Then again, he wouldn’t have become the man he was today and he wouldn’t have Sansa. Petyr sighed, he needed another drink desperately but it was probably for the best that the wine was sour. Laying down on the lumpy mattress, he knew he needed his wits about him, for tomorrow a most treacherous journey would begin.

In the morning, the men were assembled with horses, sleighs, and supplies ready to move onward to Winterfell. Each man carried dragonglass, even Petyr. He wanted to show solidarity with them but at the same time, he thought it was lunacy. Arming themselves against what was most likely wildlings wreaking havoc across the lands.

The weather was overcast but no storms on the horizon and the river was surprisingly placid. Petyr thought that was a blessing at least. If he could just get to where the two rivers merged, it would only be a short distance by road to Winterfell. Petyr just hoped he wasn’t too late.

* * *

“M’lady! M’lady!” a voice shouted from downstairs. Sansa’s handmaiden helped her dress modestly and slowly made her way to the edge of the staircase overlooking the foyer.

“Lady Stark, riders are approaching from the North! Do you wish to set up defences?” The commanding officer of the Vale was breathless running from the courtyard.

“How many are there?” Sansa asked.

“Hard to tell in this weather, but no more than ten or so that we can make out at that distance.”

Sansa guessed that it was more villagers and clans seeking shelter from the winter. She wondered how long it would be before she would have to close the gates and refuse any more. The idea made her sick. That she would have to choose who would live or die. Was this what it was to lead, to be head of a great house? Sansa wasn’t so sure she wanted to be the person that had to make these choices.

“Let them approach but keep a watchful eye on the horizon. If you see any more, prepare the soldiers for battle and close the gates. It could be wildlings for all we know. There aren’t many villagers that have livestock now. Keep me informed.”

“As you wish, m’lady.” The commander left and Sansa returned to her chamber to dress. She couldn’t stay in bed all day pregnant or not.

Thankfully, the child was in good humour this morning and allowed her to eat in peace. But that peace was short-lived when the same officer knocked and walked into Petyr’s solar in distress.

“Beg your pardon, Lady Stark, but you need to come with me now.” There was fear in his eyes and Sansa was frightened.

“What is it? Is it wildlings?” Sansa asked nervously.

“The Lord Commander of the Nights Watch is here. It is he and his men that we saw riding from the North. He demands to see you immediately.”

Sansa was breathless. _Jon!_ Her half-brother Jon was here and she couldn’t have been happier had it been Petyr himself. Sansa had barely stood when Jon strode into her solar. She beamed at him and half expected him to embrace her after all these years but as she moved towards him, she suddenly stopped. He had grown into a man, a handsome one at that but it was the look on his face that stilled her. His were the eyes of a man that had seen true horror and it painted his face with a sternness that reminded her of their father. Petyr’s logical voice whispered in her mind. If Jon was here with so few men, then either they were in trouble and needed more men for The Wall or worse… Castle Black had fallen.

“Jon… I won’t waste our time with pleasantries, my brother.” She smiled sadly.

His eyes hinted at the same sadness. Here they were, brother and sister that hadn’t seen each other in years and they both knew this wasn’t the time for a sweet reunion.

“Sansa, I’m glad you’re alive and well and you’re right. We don’t have much time. Tell me, has Stannis left for the south? Has he left you with any army at all?” Jon’s tone was deadly serious and to the point and Sansa closed her eyes. They were in trouble.

“Six months ago, at least. Lord Baelish, forgive me, the Lord Protector of the Vale left me with soldiers and sent more a few months ago, but some have deserted because of the winter and I have less than a full garrison of men. More and more small folk have come for protection here and I don’t know what else I can do.”

Sansa thought it best not to tell Jon that Petyr was now acting Lord of Winterfell and the new Warden of the North. For all she knew, Petyr could be dead along with Stannis and his army. It was only Sansa and her people now in this desperate place.

“Has Castle Black fallen? Is that why you’re here?” Sansa knew the answer before he opened his mouth.

“The North is lost. We have to evacuate Winterfell now… immediately. There is no time to lose.”

Sansa sank down into Petyr’s leather chair. Oh Gods, this wasn’t happening.

“If it’s wildlings, we may have enough in the armory…”

“No, it’s not wildlings, sister. It’s much, much worse. We must leave now. Gather all the supplies you can, horses, soldiers… we need to make for the South with haste.”

Sansa felt sick, she could feel the porridge forming a lump in her throat. “Jon, what about all these people? I can’t leave them. They’ll die here.”

Jon walked up to her and lowered his voice so only she could hear. “We can’t save them all. They’re all going to die. There is no stopping this army.”

Her heart sank at the thought and her hands trembled. The Army of the Dead. White Walkers. “But we can’t head south… the roads are impassable. Even if we made it as far as to Moat Cailin, we’d never be able to cross it. The last report I received said the rest of the towers had collapsed under the heavy snow and ice…. We’re trapped here,” she said miserably.

Jon paced the room in thought. “White Harbor?”

“Lord Baelish sent reinforcements and supplies that way from the Vale before the storms got worse. I tried sending men back to get word to him or anyone and they never returned. All I have left is what is here.”

“Did you send anyone after them?” Jon inquired.

“No, I just assumed they were dead…and I couldn't risk sending more after them...”

“Or deserted you…” Jon paused deep in thought. “If you know for certain the KingsRoad is impassable, our only hope is to make for White Harbor and pray the town hasn’t evacuated yet… or at least find some boats…”

Sansa heard what he was saying but it wasn’t registering in her brain. Evacuate, leave, and abandon Winterfell and the North. Jon was no coward and would fight to the bitter end. If he was running, it had to be the worst possible option left to him. She took a deep breath and searched for courage. If death was coming, she needed to do what she could to survive now. For the sake of her and Petyr’s unborn child, she needed to try… to fight to stay alive. If it meant running, then she would run.

_Winter approaches… with men made of ice and snow_

_Birds are singing the wolf’s song… and a child will come… a child black of hair and blue eyes… but death comes with it… and you will never have another_

_Beware the man in black… he will destroy what you hold most precious_

Sansa closed her eyes and sighed. Dear Gods, could Melisandre have been right all along? If she aborted the child, maybe she could have gone with Petyr or left Winterfell weeks ago when they had a better chance. Now, here she was eight months pregnant, no army, fewer supplies and her brother dressed in his black cloak of the Night’s Watch bringing her news of doom. What ever it was that followed him from The Wall was heading towards Winterfell. Sansa touched her belly in fear. She could very well lose it making for the coast, but if she didn’t try they would both be dead. She had to try.

Sansa stood slowly and walked to Jon embracing him. “Do what you must. You are Lord Commander here and we will follow you even if it means our deaths.” Jon pulled back and looked at her fully for the first time. His eyes travelled down her body and closed in realization at her condition. The large dressing gown she wore covered her belly when sitting but he could clearly see now that she was heavy with child.

“Oh Gods… Sansa…” Jon’s eyes were filled with sorrow. She knew just as he did. She may not make it in with this winter snow.

“Do not worry about me. I am not going to sit here and wait for my death. If I’m going to die, it will be on my terms.” She stood her ground and found some strength. She would not be weak because she was pregnant.

“My Lord…” the Vale captain interrupted, “If we build up the battlements, reinforce the castle, surely we…”

“It won’t make any difference.” Jon finished. “They came over the Wall like an avalanche. Nothing stopped them. The wildlings had giants, we joined forces, and still, it wasn’t enough. Maybe if we had more Dragonglass, more men…”

“Jon, I have crates of Dragonglass! When Stannis left he ordered Lord Baelish to sent it to me.” Maybe they wouldn’t have to leave after all.

“We’ll take it with us.”

“But if that kills them, should we try and stay…” Sansa offered.

Jon puts his hands on her shoulders, “No. We must leave.” He glanced around at the men in the room and his sister, “You don’t understand. They are too many now. Every time one of our own died… they became one of them. The rest of the wildlings scattered when the Wall fell and all of my men are dead. Our best gamble for survival is to run. If we can make it to White Harbor, maybe we’ll have a chance. If we stay here, we die. I promise you that.”

Sansa stood tall by her brother and commanded with force, “You heard him. He is your Lord Commander now, and I give him full authority. Do as he tells you.”

Jon and her officers left quickly to make arrangements for evacuation. Sansa sat down in Petyr’s chair and when she knew she was alone, cried softly. This was it, the prophecy was coming true and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She pulled out some parchment and set to work for she had little time.

When the ink had dried, she folded up each letter and sealed it with both that of House Stark and Baelish. One, was a will of sorts. It was quite possible that she could either die, give birth or both on this journey. If the child survived and she died, it would go into the care of her half-brother Jon naming him Lord of Winterfell. The other was for Petyr, if he was still alive.

Sansa looked around her solar… his solar. They had loved, fought, and discovered each other in this place. She was leaving it all behind for the unknown quite possibly never to return again. She gathered the letters and necessary items that belonged to Petyr she needed and hurried to her room. Sansa knew she could take very little. She pocketed as many jewels as she could, for they could be their last means. If Northerners were trying to escape, the coast could be filled with people… and opportunists. Money may buy them a way out. She dressed warmly as she could, pick up her two daggers and just as she was ready to leave, she saw Petyr’s tunic. It was silly, but she had to have it with her. Sansa walked to the door and looked back one last time. This room had seen so much love. Her parents and then the short time she had with Petyr. With a click of the door, she said goodbye.

Jon had sent a young girl named Gilly to help her. She was a wildling, and about Sansa’s age. She too, carried a little child that couldn’t have been more than a year or two in age. A rather plump young man, called Samwell was at her side. He helped them into a small sleigh covering the girls with heavy blankets. The whole courtyard was bustling with panic and determination. Dragonglass was handed out to every person, not just soldiers. Jon was giving everyone at least a small chance to fight and live. In record time, horses, sleighs were packed and the people were ready to go. They were told only to bring what was necessary, weapons, food, and basic shelter. They had to move fast and light if they were going to make it to White Harbor.

Sansa looked at the people waiting. Young, old, sick, and children… She couldn’t imagine even half would make it under these conditions. She insisted that at least the elderly and children get sleighs if possible. The sick and dying would be left behind along with those refusing to leave them. It made her heart sink at the choices needing to be made. Who would live and who would die. Perhaps they were all destined to die out there in the cold.

Jon checked the sleigh and gave orders to the soldiers they had left. “We’ll make for Castle Cerwin. There are boats there and we can sail down the White Knife river to White Harbor. Lord Manderly is still loyal to the Starks and hopefully can aid us crossing The Bite to safety.”

Jon handed Sansa more dragonglass to be stowed in the sleigh. “If we can get to Castle Cerwin quickly, we may have a chance to put some distance between us and the White Walkers.” Samwell mounted his horse next to the sleigh as Jon spoke to him. “Sam, you stay with Lady Stark and Gilly. I want four soldiers with them at all times. Lady Stark is with child and will need extra protection.”

Sansa watched as Jon made all the arrangements and everyone was finally ready to leave. Almost everyone. She looked around the courtyard seeing faces from the windows those in the courtyard that chose to stay behind. In that moment, Sansa felt like a coward. She was saving herself and these people, her people, were staying knowing they were going to die. Tears rolled down her face when Jon gave the order and the horses moved out taking what little they had left to attempt to save.

The weather was somewhat forgiving and the snow pack was hard making for quicker travel. It was several hours by horse to Castle Cerwin along the west tributary of the White Knife. If they were lucky, there would be boats used by river runners docked there. They were used to transport furs, timber and such for trade at White Harbor and Sansa chided herself for not thinking of it before. She could have sent those Vale soldiers by river and maybe she would know about Petyr. Or maybe, just as Jon pointed out, they deserted her knowing that the North was doomed.

Sansa prayed to the old gods and the new.

_Please let there be boats when we arrive. Or I fear we are all dead._


	23. The White Knife

  
  


The barges winded their way up the old northern river at a steady pace. Even though Petyr wished it were faster, he was grateful the river wasn’t frozen over and the current was easy along this part. It would be more difficult once they came closer to where the two tributaries merged into one. Castle Cerwyn wasn’t far from that point and it wouldn’t take long at all to reach Winterfell by land.

Petyr took in the frozen landscape along the riverbanks. There would have been no way to trek this far by road now. If the Vale soldiers made it at all, they must have had luck on their side those months ago. Now, everything was covered deep in snow and ice. As they passed, small farms, villages were deserted and it made Petyr’s uneasiness grow. It was though they were travelling through an empty wasteland. It was deathly quiet. No birds or animals of any kind, nothing but the cold breeze that chilled every man’s bones.

“My Lord! Northwest! Look!” echoed the scout above. Petyr turned his head to the direction and saw faint blue above several mounds of snow. His captain handed him a spyglass and Petyr searched the area and his eyes widened at the discovery. A lone flag partially covered in snow but it held the sigil of the Vale. Petyr closed his eyes and lowered the spyglass. His heart sank with despair at the knowledge that the soldiers never made it to Winterfell. Without the supplies, Sansa and her people were either dead or slowly starving to death. Petyr cursed himself a thousand times. Why didn’t he just marry her and take her with him? Damn Winterfell and the North. What good was any of it, if he didn’t have her?

“My Lord?” His captain was nervous and tentatively asked what all the men were thinking. “Do we continue onward? If they never made it even to Cerwyn, and everywhere else is deserted… Perhaps, it’s safe to assume that there is nothing else alive north of here…”

Petyr couldn’t allow himself to even think it. “No, we continue on. I must know. Even if there is the slightest chance they are alive, we must go on,” he ordered.

The officer was uneasy and seemed to debate his next words, but Petyr expected them all the same. “My Lord, the men… they are afraid of what lies ahead. Everything north of White Harbor is dead or abandoned.” He lowered his voice in hushed tones, “They may mutiny. Everything here is dead and they feel they are putting their lives at risk for nothing…”

Petyr couldn’t deny it. He was Warden of the North and Lord Protector of the Vale, but these men were a long way from home travelling in desolation to most likely their deaths. Could he blame their fear? After all, he was only one man. If they chose to leave, he’d have no power to stop them. Fear was a powerful thing. White Harbor instilled intense anxiety among the men after hearing the news from the north about The Wall and the Dead Army moving south. Now seeing their brothers, dead under a blanket of snow along the river, didn’t help matters.

The thought of Sansa alone in Winterfell awaiting his return pregnant with his child haunted him. He promised to return to her. No matter what the Red Woman said, he was going to keep his promise no matter what he found. He had to be pragmatic though. Fear plagued his men, if he didn’t quell it, they would most likely turn on him.

“We are not far from the tributary. There are fishing and trade posts there before Castle Cerwin. If they are also deserted or everyone is dead, I will hold it to the men to decide if any will push on or we sail back to White Harbor. Is that acceptable?” It wasn’t like Petyr to give his men a choice, but even he had to admit now it looked hopeless. It would be better that the men felt they at least had a choice rather than ordered if he hoped to keep any of them.

“Yes, I daresay that is fair enough.” Petyr half expected a smug reply but his captain was quiet and solemn in his manner. He turned to leave but Petyr heard him say sadly, “I’m truly sorry, m’lord. Lady Stark was very kind…”

Petyr rested his forearms along the bannister and let the cold breeze drift over him. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon they would be at the mouth of the two rivers and a decision would be made.

_I will always come for you_

Petyr sighed heavily. Everything about him was a lie even when he was telling the truth. It wasn’t his soldiers, or Stannis or even these White Walkers… Petyr did this to Sansa. He was to blame. He left her here to die along with his only child. Everything was to further the game. He would still have Winterfell and the North but somehow it didn’t matter anymore. If he didn’t care, he never would have left the Vale. Sansa was everything in the world that mattered to him. Even if she were dead, he would go to Winterfell. Alone if need be. If this Army of the Dead was invincible as they said, nothing mattered anymore. Great house or the smallest farmer, death was indiscriminate. He lost Cat and the thought of losing Sansa was more than he could bear.

If he were going to die, it would be by her side, he and his beloved ladywife.

* * *

They were moving as quickly as they could in the snow and Sansa could see clearer skies further south along the river. Soon they would reach Castle Cerwyn and she prayed boats awaited them there. If they could get down the river, perhaps Lord Manderly would let them sail from White Harbor in safety. Jon was right; the river would be faster and put a good distance between them and the dead that would soon come to Winterfell and head south. Maybe, they would head towards the KingsRoad instead and not along the river. But the heavy tracks in the snow could not be disguised. The river was their only chance. If not, they would never make it on horseback to the harbour. They would starve, freeze or become new additions to this dead army.

The river was beginning to widen and suddenly a lofty tower could be seen just around the snow-covered trees. Gilly’s boy gurgled and laughed and Sansa smiled for the first time in some months. She touched her stomach and said a little prayer to the gods. _Please, be kind to us._

The small castle was revealed nestled along the river. It was quiet, too quiet. Sansa looked to Jon and could see he was on edge. No fires burned, no sounds from animals nearby or a living soul could be seen or heard. Sansa felt her stomach churn. Jon sent a few men to scout the area as they quietly rode to the river docks.

When Jon’s men returned, he didn’t need to be told Castle Cerwyn was abandoned. Jon looked to the docks and lowered his head in despair. Two. That’s all that was left. Two river runner boats resting at the bank. Sansa felt sick and it wasn’t from the child she carried. With good intentions, she and Jon led their people here with the hope of survival only to crush it completely. How could they possibly decide who would take the boats? They left all those people in Winterfell to die and now here they were, trapped again with a sliver of hope for only a few.

Unlike Winterfell, Cerwyn had no provisions, livestock, arms… nothing. Those who stayed here would starve or freeze to death unless they turned back and certain death awaited those at Winterfell. Sansa wondered if they should just wait here for the inevitable. Horses wouldn’t make it far without food and shelter. There was no way Sansa could walk it. She looked around her and saw children asking their parents where they were going and Sansa felt like crying. Maybe she should just stay. The last trueborn Stark would die in the North where she belonged.

Sansa slowly climbed out of the sleigh even as Jon told her to stay put. She was stiff and needed to stretch her legs. What did it matter _she_ wasn’t going anywhere. Jon and Samwell were talking quietly and every so often looked towards the two boats. She knew what he was thinking but there were enough people that surely once they found out there weren’t enough boats, chaos would erupt. Gilly suddenly handed her boy to Sansa and was silently pulling at Samwell’s cloak.

“Look…” Sam, Jon and Sansa all turned to the direction Gilly was pointing. Was it a storm coming in? It was rolling fast, something Sansa had never seen in her life. She looked back to Jon and his face was like stone. He had seen this before. Before she could ask, he dismounted and pulled her along quickly as screams could be heard further back amongst the people.

“Men, use your dragonglass!” Jon commanded. Samwell took the lot from the sleigh as Gilly climbed out and followed Sansa and Jon to the dock. Sansa handed little Sam back to his mother and moved as quickly as her pregnant body would let her. She chanced to look back and the horror of what she saw would haunt the rest of her days.

Skeletons, half rotting corpses, dead women and children were killing people right and left. And then she could see them... White Walkers. They looked as if they were made of ice and snow with blazing blue eyes and riding dead horses. Jon pulled her along to the skiffs. He commanded what was left of his Nights Watch and a few Vale soldiers to get into the boats. Two men helped Sansa step in and she moved aside quickly. There wasn’t much room. Theses river runners were long and shallow unlike the ones used for the sea. These were better for traversing smaller rivers quickly.

Sansa sat and waited in terror. While the men were helping Gilly and grabbing the life-saving dragonglass, Sansa watched the slaughter move closer. The screams of frightened children echoed everywhere and then suddenly silenced. The soldiers were fighting the dead as best they could and the dragonglass proving to be extremely helpful but it wasn’t enough. There were too many of them and the place was overrun. They were getting closer and Sansa and Gilly huddled together with her boy between them. She could hear Jon yelling at his men and felt the weight of Samwell getting in the boat with the rest of the men that would row. A rotten corpse hit the water and latched onto the side almost tearing the wood from the frame. Sansa heard herself scream as it dragged one man overboard to his death. Jon jumped in by the rudder and cut the line.

“Row! Row for your damned lives!” Jon yelled. The other men and three women managed to push off in the other skiff making way into the swifter part of the river's current. The river up here was much faster than what lay southeast where the tributaries combined.

Jon sliced a skeleton soldier in half as it tried to jump from the dock onto him. The men grunted with effort as they pulled the ores as fast as they could. If they didn’t get into the current, they wouldn’t make it. The dead men were wading into the shallows of the riverbed and others were running down the west banks trying to get at them. The men rowed hard and Sansa could feel the fast current grab the boat and pull it downstream. She opened her eyes and chanced a look fearing what she might see as it all unfolded as if in slow motion. Her people and the remaining Vale soldiers were being slaughtered to death on the shore, some still screaming for them to come back. A woman ran through the snow along the riverside only to be cut down by a White Walker on its horse. Suddenly the dead army stopped and watched the living as they drifted quickly down the river. Sansa’s heart stopped and she couldn’t believe her eyes. Before turning the bend into rapid waters, she saw the newly slaughtered men, women and children slowly rise. Their eyes were the same bright blue as they stood and watched along with the rest of the Army of the Dead.

* * *

The shift in the water could be felt as they neared the mouth of the two smaller rivers converging into one and Petyr knew he didn’t have long to wait. On the east bank were the two warships Manderly told him about. They were longboats and still held a shallow hull for river travel. These boats could be seaworthy if needed, Petyr thought. They were armoured and from the look of it, ready to sail.

Petyr mulled it over, if some of the men wished to return to White Harbor, he could keep one of the warships and have the supplies and some horses put ashore to head for Winterfell. At least, Petyr would still have an armoured boat if he needed it. He hoped that some men would have enough courage to move forward instead of running away like cowards but he expected the worst-case scenario.

Petyr had men inspect the two warships and prepare them for sailing. Keeping the men busy was buying him time to figure how what to do. If they could hold up here for a short time, perhaps he could convince more men to go with him or stay here and wait for him to return. Petyr figured from here to Castle Cerwin and to Winterfell would be a day’s ride even in snow. Would they be here when he returned? At the very least, leave him one damned boat.

“My Lord, what are your orders?”

Petyr gazed up the west tributary leading to Winterfell. Tall, foreboding cliffs surrounded it guarded by a heavy tree line. “We hold here for the moment. What is the status of the two ships?”

“They are well provisioned already. Looks as though Lord Manderly was expecting to use them very soon until these lands were abandoned. I see why he didn’t send anyone up here to retrieve them. We’re wide open and vulnerable here.” The Vale captain pushed the question Petyr knew he was going to ask. “Do we press on or return to White Harbor, m’lord?”

Petyr tapped his gloved fingers on the weathered bannister thinking it over. “As I said, we hold here for the moment. Let the men eat and rest for a bit. I’ll have a decision for you shortly.”

The man was right, everything here was dead or abandoned and it weighed heavily on Petyr’s mind. His logic told him that going North was folly. Nothing had been heard from Winterfell in months and by gauging the state of the lands they passed through to even get here, it would be more than plausible that they would encounter more of the same if they moved forward. They couldn’t have survived on the meagre supplies for that many months. The image of his sweetling slowly starving to death tore at his mind. No, he would not turn back.

* * *

The rapids were building along this stretch of the river as the boats moved swiftly with the current south to the where the two converged into one. If they could get through this part, the sailing should be smoother to White Harbor, Sansa tried to convince herself. The heavy movement was making her sick and she closed her eyes willing herself not to retch. Little Sam was crying as Gilly held him tight while rough waters spilt into the skiff. Jon sat at the back and navigated the long-runner as best he could along the icy waters trying to avoid hitting any rocks that would surely sink them. Looking around her, the men were exhausted but pushed on knowing what lay behind them. Sansa could see the other river runner ahead of them downstream but for some reason, Jon was being more cautious even though they wanted to rush as fast as they could.

There was a narrowing of the river ahead nestled between tall cliffs and heavy pine trees. There wasn’t any visibility beyond it and Sansa could see Jon was nervous.

“What is it?” Sansa asked.

“I remember years ago travelling this way with Robb and Father. It was our first time to White Harbor.” Sansa wasn’t expecting him to reminisce about better days but his face showed concern and she wondered what lay behind those cliffs. “Traders used the rivers for transporting timber, furs and goods… but Father said this path could be dangerous. If the timber wasn’t taken downstream in such a way, it could block the river if left unattended. Not only that, this area was ripe for thieves because it was a perfect place to ambush boats passing through.”

Sansa knew Jon wasn’t concerned about thieves. Everywhere seemed to be deserted and she was scared. If the river was blocked, they were dead. If the army caught up with them along the pass, they were dead. They couldn’t turn back.

Jon called out to the other boat, “Slow down! Watch out for timber and keep your weapons at the ready.” Regardless of his warning, they didn’t slow and disappeared around the cliff. “Fools, they’re moving too fast.” Jon huffed.

“Is there another way?” Samwell asked.

“No.” Jon sighed, “Take it easy around this bend. The rapids will be rougher but keep your eyes open and stay alert. Keep your weapons close.” Jon drew his sword and kept it loose by his side. He kept a wary eye around the shore and instructed Samwell to keep watch looking above at the steep granite cliffs.

Sansa held tight onto her dragonglass dagger and willed herself to breathe. The rapids were faster and hit them with force. Freezing water splashed inside the boat and the child cried in terror. Gilly tried to calm him, holding him ever so tighter to her but the child wailed on.

Ahead, the high-pitched scream of a woman echoed back through the small canyon. Sansa’s heart beat wildly and looked to Jon. The boat came around another bend where the river opened up but far ahead they could see the others fighting the dead along a broad embankment. Logs of timber blocked their path through the final wall of granite leading to the confluence below.

“Keep moving, we can’t help them now,” Jon ordered in sadness watching the people fight for their lives.

The boat neared the cliff wall as Jon tried to manoeuvre around timber lodged in rapids. Screams could still be heard as their own boat stalled against two logs.

“Shit,” Jon muttered. “Use your ores and try to push against it.”

“Jon!” Samwell pointed up and along the top of the cliff, dead soldiers, some of them dressed in Vale colours starting making their way quickly down the cracked granite wall like spiders. “MOVE!”

Every man pushed and pulled against the large timber trying to free themselves. Sansa could see the other boat that had capsized, drift past them into the rapids below. The men worked hard and suddenly the timber broke free and they slipped back into the fast current. The dead were falling into the river from the cliffs above trying to latch onto the boat. One managed to grab Jon, but Samwell stabbed it with the obsidian stone and the dead man shattered to pieces. A Vale soldier stabbed another that tried to climb in next to Sansa and suddenly she felt pain. She wasn’t wounded. No, this pain signified something worse. Another sharp pain sliced down her low back to her abdomen and Sansa panicked.

_Oh Gods, no…. not now. Not here._

Sansa looked around her in alarm. The men were busy saving their lives, and Sansa couldn’t tell them what she feared was happening to her. What did it matter now anyway? There was nothing she could do but breathe and wait for the inescapable. Just as they thought they were clear, Jon muttered under his breath looking straight ahead.

“Oh, fuck me…”

Sansa turned to see what had Jon so scared and her heart stopped. The white water seemed to disappear over the edge that they were quickly headed towards. There was no stopping the boat. “But there’s no waterfall through here,” he said more to himself. “Everyone hold on!”

As the boat neared, Jon leaned up to look ahead. “It’s not a waterfall, it's blocked up timber that the river has pushed over. It’s going to be steep.” The cliffs were opening up and Sansa could see a clear horizon along where the rivers merged. They crested the upper edge of the rapids and she could see the cascade of heavy white water over logs that made what would have been an easy slope to sail down far more dangerous.

“We’re going down _that_?” Sansa gasped in horror.

“We have no choice. HOLD ON!” Jon yelled.


	24. Calm Before the Storm

Petyr was making preparations to move supplies off the barge when strange echoes erupted from the west tributary. Every man stopped and listened. It wasn’t birds and surely animals wouldn’t be on the river. One man whispered to the others “ _ghosts”_ and Petyr scoffed. Next it would be fairies playing tricks on them. Just as the thought left his mind, Petyr heard it again and stared at the mouth of the small river running between the rugged cliffs. There was something just up the river and no one was sure what it was.

Petyr told the men to arm themselves and ready the ships if they had to sail quickly. He no sooner gave the order when a scream ricocheted off the towering granite walls encasing the river. That voice belonged to a woman, not a ghost. Were people trying to sail down the river? A sliver of hope lifted Petyr’s heart. Maybe everyone wasn’t dead further North after all.

One of the smaller barges was ordered to row as close as they could to the confluence of the two rivers without getting trapped in the rapid waters. More voices could be heard yelling and they were definitely more masculine. Just then a broken river runner washed out of the rapids. It was snapped in half and capsized. Either its occupants were dead or soon to drift down just as broken as the pile of wood.

Petyr and his men watched and waited with bated breath. There was nothing they could do to help these people upriver. If any survived the rapids to the mouth of the converged rivers, only then would they be able to try and rescue them. All they could do was wait and listen to the tormented voices trying to fight to stay alive.

All at once, a badly battered skiff peaked around the rocks and drifted helplessly into the lower rapids to where the barge was waiting. Petyr could see a few men in the torrents trying to keep their heads above the icy white water. Vale soldiers were throwing old fishing nets into the water for the drowning men to grab on to as the long river runner coasted by the barge with two men hanging onto its sides with a small woman peering over the edge with what looked like a young child in her arms.

Petyr gripped the bannister and all the air left his lungs as he couldn’t catch his breath. The skiff drifted closer and lying at the bottom of the hull was a man in black holding the most beautiful red-haired angel. Petyr scaled-down the ships rope ladder to one of their own dinghies to help the survivors. Their skiff was sinking fast and the water was freezing.

“Please take my boy… please!” the young girl pleaded.

The boy traveled from one man to the next until he was pulled up to the top of the balustrade. The two men in the water were slowly making their way around the dinghy, and with help started to ascend the ship’s ladder. The dark-haired one was clearly a man of the Nights Watch, Petyr guessed. He lifted the young girl into the men’s arms and leaned back down into the hull as Petyr climbed in the sinking boat.

“Help me, it will take two of us to move her. She’s unconscious,” the Nights Watchman begged as Petyr helped lift Sansa up and out of the skiff. All Petyr could hear was the beating of his heart in his ears. _She was alive_. That’s all that mattered. At this moment, Petyr knew he was right where he was supposed to be… with her. She was drenched in freezing water and the men started lifting her upwards when the man in black shouted, “Gentle! She’s with child!”

Petyr’s heart stilled as he turned to look at the man from The Wall. He was about to speak but the words died on his lips when a sudden and very cold wind gusted down from the cliffs to the gorge. Petyr looked up and froze. A storm was rolling in but it wasn’t clouds and snow. Every man stopped and looked to the top of the towering cliffs. There stood what they had feared and prayed didn’t exist. Petyr couldn’t believe his eyes. It was true, all of it. Whatever was contained behind The Wall for hundreds of years was now staring back at them.

The man in black didn’t hesitate as the rest stood dumbfounded at the sight. “My name is Jon Snow, I’m the Commander of the Nights Watch. We have to set sail right now or we’re all dead!”

Petyr looked into Jon’s eyes and knew. He started up the ladder and could see the men gently pulling Sansa over the bannister. “Captain! Do as he says!” Petyr ordered.

The Vale captain had already ordered the canvas released and the strong winds thrust the ship forward in a jolt that Petyr lost his footing and almost threw Jon into the drink. Petyr climbed over and rushed to where Sansa was laying in the young girl’s arms. He softly pulled her into his own and cradled her against him whispering her name. She was muttering incoherently and shivering terribly.

Petyr could feel Jon’s eyes on him after he climbed onto the deck. The way Petyr was holding Sansa, speaking softly to her, begging her to open her eyes betrayed their intimacy to her so-called half brother. Petyr was removing his heavy, fur-lined cloak to wrap around his ladywife when Jon finally spoke sounding exhausted, “I cannot thank you and your men enough… _Lord Baelish_ , is it?” Petyr looked up in surprise, the boy was perceptive enough. One look at the Vale sigils and soldiers aboard, one would think it was easy deduction, he thought. Petyr only nodded, but the greetings were short-lived as the tortured screams of men could be heard behind them.

The young commander ran to the stern and Petyr saw him drop his head in despair at the sight. The barge nearest the confluence was under attack and already sinking on the starboard side. The army of the dead had dropped from the cliffs and attacked the ship as it struggled to move out of the rapids downstream. The remaining army observed from above watching the living as they sacrificed their own to escape. Men from the Vale on the other warship could be heard arguing about turning back to aid their brothers and Jon sighed.

He turned to Petyr and his captain and shook his head, “You can’t help them. If you turn around, everyone will die. Do you understand?”

Petyr, was a selfish man and even though he felt a small ping of remorse for those men, all that was important to him was the unconscious woman in his arms. He took off her soaked cloak and before he wrapped his warm one around her, Petyr gazed at her belly. Indeed, she would be giving birth very soon. He needed to get her out of these clothes before she and the child died of exposure.

Picking her up in his arms, Petyr grunted for she was very heavy since the last time he carried her. Jon followed him to where a few sleeping quarters were located. “How well armed is this ship, Lord Baelish?” Petyr could feel his questioning gaze burning his back and it wasn’t about the ship.

“Fully. Lord Manderly told me had a few warships hidden upriver when I arrived in White Harbor. I brought up supplies and was making my way to Winterfell. The weather has been unforgiving until now. I haven’t received any contact from Lady Sansa for months and on our way here, saw one of my sigils buried in snow. I assumed my soldiers never arrived and died on the road.” Petyr turned around and looked the young Stark over. “Tell me, what are our chances? Can we outrun… _that_?” Petyr nodded his head towards the cliffs growing smaller in the distance.

“Honestly? I don’t know. We couldn’t stop them, not even with the aid of wildlings at The Wall. All of my men are dead. We burned as many as we could for that is the only way to keep them from rising again. That and dragonglass, but we didn’t have nearly enough. It was all we could do to ride for Winterfell… what was left of us. Winterfell was overrun with refugees and finding my sister pregnant….” Jon sighed. “We made for Castle Cerwin hoping for boats to get down the river best we could. We lost a great many people.”

The two men stood studying each other for a moment and Petyr broke the silence as his arms were aching, “I’m truly sorry.” He looked down at Sansa and knew he needed to get her warm; he would talk to her _brother_ later. “I thank you… for this, “ he said sincerely. Petyr saw the young girl with her son and thought she could be useful. “Girl… would you help me, please? We’ll get you and your child warm and fed.”

“Gilly,” she introduced herself with a strong voice. Petyr wondered briefly if she was a wildling.

“Please, Gilly, come with me,” Petyr asked with a weary smile. She looked to a heavy-set young man dressed in black with questioning. Only when he told her it was all right, did she finally walk towards Petyr.

“Captain, make sure Lord Snow has everything at his disposal. Tend to his men and bring food and warm blankets. We will need every man alive and able to get down this river.” Petyr turned one last time to look at Jon. “Does the dragonglass really work?”

“Yes.”

Petyr nodded in thought. “There is a crate of it below. Forgive me, Lord Snow, I must tend to my lady. Captain, sail as fast as we can. Keep me informed.” Petyr left and entered the small quarters just below the deck.

The bed wasn’t big, barely enough room for a pregnant woman. She was soaking wet to the skin and Petyr sat her down on a chair as the young woman followed. She sat the child on the bed and walked over to Sansa. “Here. Hold her her steady.” Petyr removed the cloak and began unlacing her dress. She was so heavy with child that the dress wasn’t tight and came apart easily. Just as he was pulling her arms from the sleeves, Jon entered the room.

“Forgive me, Lord Baelish, but there’s one more thing…” He stopped dead in his tracks looking at Petyr undressing his sister as if it were a practised thing. “What are you doing?”

Petyr paid him no mind and continued focusing on the girl before him, “I think it is more than obvious.” Petyr lifted Sansa up from under her arms and her head lolled against his neck. “Get her skirt, my dear.” Gilly made quick work and the wet clothing fell to the floor in a soaked heap leaving the pregnant woman in her shift.

“I must protest, my lord. That is my sister you are handling intimately. Let me do this.” Jon moved to take Sansa away from him but Petyr was faster and quickly swooped her legs with one arm and moved to the bed where Gilly was pulling down the blankets and furs.

“Lord Commander, I assure you it is more than proper for a husband to undress and care for his ladywife.” Petyr laid Sansa on her side and for the first time in months he finally heard her voice and it called his name. “Ssh, it’s all right now. I’m here.” Petyr kissed her forehead and she opened her bleary eyes. It took a moment for her to focus and the look of recognition came across her face. Petyr didn’t know what to expect, he waited for anger but instead, a sweet smile emerged.

“Are you really here?” Sansa’s breath was heavy as she reached out and touched his face. In turn, Petyr took her palm and kissed it. Sansa looked around the room, “Where are we?”

“ _Safe_. Don’t worry anymore. We’re sailing downriver to White Harbor. I’m taking you back to the Vale where you and the child will be secure.”

Sansa had tears in her eyes and Petyr’s heart broke at her words, “You kept your promise…”

“How could I have ever left you?” he whispered to her. “I should have taken you with me, Stannis be damned. I never should have left you there.”

“ _You’re the father_ ,” Jon stated with anger behind them.

Petyr sighed. He was eternally grateful that Jon saved Sansa and brought her back to him alive but his patience was growing thin. “As always, you Starks are quick…” he quipped under his breath.

Jon heard and moved like lightning pulling Petyr backwards onto the floor. “You, got her with child and left her abandoned during a winter? Husband or not, I should kill you for that alone!”

“Jon, stop… please.” Sansa muttered from the bed. She tried to sit up but was weak. Petyr got to his feet swiftly and pulled his dagger in defence and stood his ground. Not again, Petyr thought. A dagger was nothing against the Valyrian sword the young commander wielded in his hand.

“Now, now my boy. I _am_ grateful to you, but you overstep your bounds. Tell me, how well does Stannis take to being told no?” Petyr goaded. Jon may be young and strong, but Petyr had age and wisdom and he wasn’t about to let this boy have the upper hand. “Clearly, he didn’t leave you with any reinforcements at The Wall, did he? Even knowing what you told him about what horrors lay beyond it?” Petyr demanded. “Don’t judge me, boy. Had I known what was headed here, I never would have left _my wife_ at your damned Winterfell. Be grateful, if it had not worked out this way, you and your friends would be dead now at the cliffs.”

“Did you force her to marry you after you killed the Boltons? Make your own claim on Winterfell and the North? I can’t imagine she chose this.” Jon sneered.

“Stop it, the both of you… “ Sansa crawled from the bed and attempted to stand only to fall forward yelping in pain. Petyr dropped the dagger to the floor, catching her. Sansa was cradling her belly and he could feel her shaking. It suddenly dawned on him. _She was in labour!_ The child was coming and panic filled him.

Petyr helped her back into the small bed and took her face in his hands. “It’s coming, isn’t it?” She nodded with tears streaming down her face. Petyr kissed her forehead and held her to him as he tried to think of what to do. He had never delivered a child in his life and hadn’t the faintest idea where to start. How many of his whores gave birth and he thought nothing of it? He knew the mechanics of it, but so many things could go wrong. Lysa was proof of that.

“Lord Snow, one of your men isn’t a maester by any chance, is he?” Petyr thought the question was ridiculous, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“No, but… Sam, he worked closely with Maester Aemon.” Jon’s voice turned from anger to fear in an instant. Thankfully, his sister’s well-being was more important than killing him, Petyr thought.

“Get him.” Petyr looked to Gilly and before he said a word she picked up the boy and stood in front of Petyr and Sansa.

“I’ve helped my sisters bear children and had this one myself. I know I’m not an educated lady…”

“My dear, you’re perfect. Tell us what you need.” Petyr offered in earnest.

“Fetch me something I can put this one in” She signified the child in her arms, “A crate, box…anything. We’ll need one for the babe too when it comes.” Gilly ticked each item off on her fingers, “Clean blankets, cloth, a knife and bucket, clean hot water, a needle and thread if you have it among you men…”

Petyr smiled, he liked this girl. She had spirit. Petyr walked briskly to the door and turned when Jon didn’t follow. “Coming _Lord Commander_? I need your man and I don’t have time to wait for you to collect yourself.”

Petyr left quickly finding his captain and requesting all the items Gilly needed for Sansa. He saw Jon speaking to the portly young man and Petyr grimaced. He couldn’t imagine a young man of the Nights Watch would know much about childbirth, but Petyr told himself not to judge. His options were sorely limited and needed to think about Sansa’s welfare.

Looking upriver, Petyr wondered how much time they had before the dead army caught up with them. He rubbed his chin where he let his goatee grow back after all those months alone. He wasn’t positive if they would make it to White Harbor and it would surely be more difficult with a newly born babe. He wasn’t even sure what they were sailing downstream to either. Petyr commanded that the crew fully arm the ship, and stay on high alert.

When he walked back into the room, Gilly was busy setting up what she needed to bring his child into the world as Sansa was propped up against pillows looking as if she were trying to will away the pain. Petyr pulled a small chair and sat next to her taking her hand, placing a tender kiss to it. “What can I do?”

“Get this child of yours out of me…” Sansa huffed in pain. Her words weren’t in anger as she squeezed his hand and he couldn’t help but smile a little. Suddenly, she firmly grasped him as real pain hit hard and couldn’t contain the wail that escaped her lungs. Just then, Samwell walked in with eyes as wide as a doe.

Petyr knew giving birth wasn’t easy or painless but he couldn’t bear seeing her suffer. “Is there anything you can give her? Milk of the poppy… _anything_?” he asked Samwell.

“Milk of the poppy would ease her pain, but… I don’t know what it would do to the child, m’lord.” Samwell offered nervously.

“No,” Sansa grunted in distress, “I’m not taking anything that will harm this child. I’ve been through too damn much to muck it up at the end.” Another pain struck her fast and she cried out.

“Her pains are coming very fast, it won’t be long. I worry…” Gilly stopped herself as she felt around Sansa’s belly.

“What? Is there something wrong?” Petyr was worried now.

“M’lady, when did you first start feeling any pain?” Gilly asked.

“On… on the river runner when we were attacked upstream.” Sansa winced and held onto Petyr’s hand tighter.

Gilly felt around Sansa’s belly and then put a hand to her apex. “I think the stress has made her labour go faster, I’m not sure. The baby feels odd as if it’s in the wrong position. One of my sister’s had this problem and…”

Petyr guessed at how that must have ended and fear struck him. It was entirely possible that he could lose not only the child but Sansa too.

“It is a very large child she is carrying. I worry she may tear… “ Gilly didn’t get to finish when Sansa wailed loudly.

“Oh Gods… I think it’s coming. It’s too soon. I don’t remember my mother giving birth this quickly. There must be something wrong….” Sansa laid her head back as tears streamed down her cheeks. She tugged Petyr close to her face and whispered, “You promise me the child comes first, do you hear me? If you have to choose… save the child, Petyr.”

He couldn’t even answer when she cried out as she tried to push herself up. Gilly helped her to sit with her knees bent and felt once again around her apex. When her hand retreated, it was coated with fresh blood and Petyr was alarmed. “She’s ready,” Gilly said more to herself. She took a deep breath and looked at Sansa. “You need to bear down, take deep breaths and push when I tell you, m’lady.” Sansa nodded in fear and pain.

“Petyr help me…” She was having trouble sitting up and Petyr moved to sit beside her on the bed supporting her back. He wasn’t sure how this would play out and he was truly scared. Sansa was breathing hard and her body trembled as he held her. She cried out again as another pain hit her and Gilly told her to push.

He could feel every muscle of this girl tense as she pushed with all her might. The air was so thick; one could cut it with a knife. Sansa yelled in pain and Petyr couldn’t even imagine how difficult this was for her. His own adrenaline was so high that he felt his breathing match hers. All that could be heard was the screaming of his young wife as she tried to bring his child. He held her and whispered sweet nothings of love and encouragement knowing she was in immense pain. Petyr could feel the sweat from her exertion and her poor body shook from the intensity.

“I can feel the head…” Gilly smiled. The baby must have turned and Petyr was relieved. “Sansa, I need you to push very hard. This is the worst part.” She turned to Samwell, “Sam, give me that cloth there and the knife.”

Sam no sooner set the items down when Sansa pushed with everything she had and cried out in such a way that tore at Petyr’s heart. “Good, it’s almost done. Just one more,” Gilly smiled at them. One more push and Petyr would have his first child. He was anxious with anticipation and fear.

Sansa gave another hard push and then collapsed against him as the sweetest cry filled his ears. Gilly pulled the babe free and cut the cord before wrapping it in soft linen. Sansa was crying against his shoulder as he watched in awe of what just happened.

“A boy, m’lord.” Gilly beamed.

 _A son!_ He had a son. Petyr swelled with pride. He knew Sansa wanted a girl and he would have been happy either way, but something in him soared at the knowledge he had a son to carry on his name. Petyr smiled and went to kiss Sansa on the forehead when he stilled. She was crying but not in joy, she was in pain. Petyr tilted her head up in concern. He held her close and gingerly rested his hand upon her belly.

“Something’s wrong… why does it still hurt so much?” Sansa questioned breathlessly.

Gilly handed the boy to Samwell and examined Sansa. She took Petyr’s hand and pressed it down and it made Sansa cry out. “Do you feel that?” Gilly looked Petyr in the eyes, “It’s another.” Gilly took Sansa’s hands and pulled her up again, “You need to push again, m’lady,” she instructed with urgency.

“What? No, I can’t,” Sansa looked at him with tears in her eyes, “Petyr, I can’t.” she pleaded weakly. Petyr knew she had to and sat behind her bringing her to sit up with him.

“Yes, you can.” Petyr kissed her damp cheek and helped her. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known.”

Sansa grabbed her knees as he supported her from behind while she bore down again. Her face was contorted with agony as she gritted her teeth and pushed. A few tense minutes passed and with a sharp welp, Sansa fell back against him once again completely exhausted. Petyr held her to him and suddenly a soft cry was heard and he breathed a sigh of relief.

 _Twins_. Sansa had borne him twins. One was enough, but two?

“A girl, a beautiful girl.” Gilly announced with a bright smile on her face. Petyr looked down and finally saw a small grin on Sansa’s face.

“She’s alive… they’re both all right?” Sansa voiced meekly.

The two babes cried and the sound echoed in the small room. Gilly brought the newly swaddled girl and placed her in Sansa’s arms. The new mother held her gently and gazed into the face of her daughter. Sansa sniffed back a few tears and turned her face to look at Petyr.

“She’s beautiful,” she cried softly.

Petyr moved from behind her and propped up the pillows for her lie back and rest. Samwell walked over holding the boy and placed the small bundle in his father’s arms. Petyr was amazed at how small a newborn was. This little thing was his entire world. The army of the dead could burst in at this moment and all he could see was this beautiful sight before him. The boy stopped crying and gurgled a bit and Petyr could feel tears sting his eyes. He was not a man to be swayed by emotion, but nothing was better than holding one’s child for the first time. He glanced at Sansa and she was just as captivated by the daughter in her arms. Petyr sat down on the bed next to her and for once in his life he was utterly speechless. The game didn’t exist, nor the army that surely followed and even Gilly and Samwell might as well been invisible. All he could see were his beautiful children and the woman he would soon make his wife.

After a time, Petyr exchanged the babes with Sansa. He held his little girl. She had a full head of black hair already and when she clasped his little finger, his heart skipped a beat. Petyr never understood until now, how one could lay down their life for their children. Holding his two newborns, he knew he wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to die for them. The game be damned, if it came down to saving Sansa and his children, he would do just that. Considering what followed behind them, it was becoming a real possibility that they may have to leave Westeros. Petyr wasn’t sure what would defeat an army of the dead. He knew of the dragonglass, but if there weren’t enough men to fight, what good would it do? Even worse, if every man that died in battle was essentially born again into the living dead, there was no winning such a battle.

“What are you thinking about?” Sansa’s tired voice brought him back to the present. Gilly and Sam were tending to her and cleaning up the afterbirth. Sam poured a small amount of Sweetsleep into a cup and gave it to Sansa.

“You should try and rest, m’lady. The Sweetsleep will not harm you. We’ll watch over the infants,” Samwell offered.

“Petyr, will you stay? Please?” Sansa’s eyes were brimming with tears and even though he had no intention of leaving her, Petyr nodded his head.

He told Gilly and Sam that he would watch over them for now until he was ready to sleep. They had another day or so before reaching White Harbor. If they were lucky, it would be smooth sailing as it had been going North days before. It would give them time to recover, for Petyr knew once they arrived in the port city, they would need to leave quickly.

Sansa moved slowly to the side of the bed against the wall. Petyr could tell she was still in pain as he helped her lie down. It was cold on the boat and he pulled up the blankets and furs to cover her before lying on his side next to her with the two children between them. For a long time, all that could be heard was the soft noises from the two that lay between them swaddled and warm. Petyr stared at Sansa who was looking directly at him on her side. No words were needed. They both knew that this was right. Together is where they belonged. Petyr felt that once they got to the safety of Gulltown, he could make arrangements for Jon, putting him into play. If the danger persisted in the North, Petyr wouldn’t think twice about evacuating his new family out of Westeros for however long it took.

The end game still mattered, but nothing was more important that what lay on this little bed. Petyr would give everything up if it meant their safety. He could see a future, a happy future with Sansa raising these two beautiful children. Manderly was right, he was still young. Petyr had plenty of time to continue playing the game. Right now, Sansa and two newborns were highly vulnerable and needed his protection above all things.

Sansa’s eyes were getting heavy as the Sweetsleep was finally working. She smiled at him and Petyr fell in love all over again. This woman amazed him. She was not just a survivor but a fighter. That Stark quality was ever present. She would fight for these children and him just as he would for her. She reached up and grazed his jaw rough with whiskers.

“You grew it back…”

Petyr smiled, “Well, I didn’t have a beautiful wife to kiss senselessly.” She touched his lips and he kissed her fingertips.

“I knew you would come,” she whispered as sleep was taking over. “You kept your promise.” Sansa’s eyes began to drift close, “Promise, you’ll never leave me… us… again.”

“Never again, I promise,” Petyr answered and it was the truth. He would not let them out of his sight. Everything was about them and escaping the North. She smiled and finally relaxed into sleep muttering, “I love you…”

“And I, you.”

* * *

Petyr woke with Sansa curled into his side in front of him. It had been a day since she gave birth and she slept for most the time. He, Gilly and Sam took turns watching the three children as Jon and Petyr’s captain were keeping watch and making for White Harbor as fast as they could. Gilly and Sam said Sansa had bled quite a bit and would be very weak for days. The two babes were healthy and at least that gave Petyr some comfort.

Once they arrived in White Harbor, Petyr would have Sansa carried the way to where his ships waited for him in the bay. Gilly showed him how to make a swaddling cloth that wrapped around the body to carry the child. Wildlings were definitely practical, Petyr thought. He wanted to try and keep both babes together to be carried if possible. Petyr didn’t like the idea of separating them in case they came into danger. Sansa would barely be able to carry herself, let alone worry about a child. Petyr didn’t want anyone else carrying his children. They were small enough that when Gilly wrapped his torso and placed each child against his broad chest, it looked as though the idea could work.

When making adjustments with the children, Sansa had awoken and was quietly observing him. “Very fashionable,” she quipped. Petyr turned and smiled at her.

“Yes, I daresay I’ll start a trend. It’s not as though I invoked a demand in Kings Landing for lords and ladies to look as fashionable as a brothel keeper,” he japed back. “How do you feel today?”

“Better. I still feel light-headed and it hurts to walk much, but hopefully, it will be better by the time we leave the city.”

There was so much hope in her voice that Petyr willed himself to smile at her. He knew their chances were going to be difficult. The city was in turmoil when he left to head north and not knowing what awaited them kept him in constant fear. He had enough men on these two ships that he felt confident that they could make their way in some safety. However, if his ships were not in the harbour, Petyr was sick to think of what would become of them. Petyr didn’t know how much he trusted Manderly not to take everything and leave him stranded here. With a deadly army in pursuit, Petyr didn’t think they would have any place to hide.

The door opened and Jon strode inside and any good hope Petyr felt at making a clean sail the rest of way died. “Lord Baelish, I need to speak with you.”

Petyr lifted the children from him and handed them both to Sansa. He kissed her gently and threw on his cloak to quickly leave with Jon to the deck of the ship. Jon was standing at the rail over the stern and Petyr saw the storm that was heading towards them. He joined Jon overlooking the northern lands and sighed, “How long would you say? Half a day? Less?”

“If we make it to White Harbor, it will be pure luck if we can get out of the bay,” Jon lamented.

“Say nothing to Sansa. I don’t wish to upset her. When the time comes we’ll move, but only then. She can barely walk as it is,” Petyr instructed.

“I’ll carry her if it comes to that. You take the children.” Jon offered.

“I want to make one thing clear. I will _not_ leave her behind. I will kill any man that tries to save himself. She and the children will be protected at all costs. Is that understood?” Petyr looked Jon in the eyes driving his point home.

Jon stood watching him with curiosity. “You love her, don’t you?”

“With every fiber of my being. I will do everything in my power to protect her and my children. They will not join that army, I promise you. Even if I have to kill them myself.” Petyr eyed him and for the first time, these two men understood each other.

Jon nodded in agreement, “I do know how you feel, surprising as that may be. Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Petyr left to go below deck. In the stores, he grabbed several blades of dragonglass, a few more daggers stowing them inside his cloak. When he returned to Sansa’s room he took off his cloak concealing the weapons inside. He stood and watched her for a moment. Both babes were on the bed as she lay on her side next to them. She was making little noises and gestures that seemed to entertain the little ones. It was the most precious thing he had ever seen. Yes, he would fight to the bitter end to save them. And if that weren’t enough, he would find a way to make it painless.

Sansa caught his eye and smiled. She couldn’t have been more beautiful than right in this moment. He wouldn’t tell her anything until it was necessary. He would give her at least this small happiness. Petyr walked to the table that held a small Maester’s Chest. Petyr looked through the contents consisting of Tear of Lys, Nightshade and finally the rest of the Sweetsleep.

Sweetsleep in small doses was harmless, but in comparison to the other poisons, this was the least painful. One large dose would kill her and very little for the two infants. Petyr would let them drift away and not be conscious when he drove dragonglass into them preventing them from becoming a part of this living death.

“What are you doing?” Sansa asked behind him on the bed. Petyr pocketed the vial and turned to her with a smile.

“Only looking for something to ease my stomach. I fear I ate some fish earlier that didn’t agree with me,” he lied convincingly enough that she returned to playing with the children on the bed.

Petyr walked over and sat down on the bed watching his family. _His family_. Something he never thought he would ever have and here it was before him. He reached out and tucked some of her hair behind her ear as she leaned her head onto his hand.

“You have no idea how much I love you, do you?” he whispered. Sansa smiled and leaned over the babes to kiss him.

“I have an inkling,” she teased. “I have to say, I don’t know if I love you enough to do this again, though.”

Petyr barked in laughter and for a moment he could forget about the rest of the world. He looked down at his two children and his son seemed fixed on him. He caressed his little face mesmerized at the softness of a babe’s skin. He didn’t have as much hair as his sister, but his eyes were green and the girl looked just like her mother, eyes blue as a sunlit sea. Petyr gazed at his wife in awe. He should have married her and now he was worried he wouldn’t get the chance. Petyr removed his pinky ring made of intricate silver with an emerald stone. He took Sansa’s hand and placed it on her finger. She looked at him with a strange smile.

“You don’t need my cloak for protection to call you my wife. I don’t need a Septon to make it official.” Petyr clarified.

Sansa toyed with the ring on her finger. A look of happiness and sadness came over her and Sansa's next words surprised him. “Petyr, I don’t want to end up like those others.” She gazed at him in earnest, “You’ll take care of it, won’t you?”

She did sense it, Petyr thought. She wasn’t stupid, this lovely wife of his. He nodded and didn’t patronize her. “We’re almost to White Harbor. We have a good chance. Don’t think too much on it. Jon and I have been working out every possibility to get out of here.” He smiled and kissed her again. “The only thing I want you to worry about are these two troublemakers.”

Sansa laughed finally and it warmed his heart. He could see these two being the cause of many headaches in the future. His children would be too smart for their own good, Petyr smiled to himself. My wits and her beauty… yes, they were in trouble.

“We should name them, don’t you think?” Petyr smiled. Sansa grinned and caressed her daughter’s tuft of black hair.

“Alayne. She will be named after your mother… and I rather like the name. It’s special to me.” She glanced at him and was gauging his reaction. He expected her to pick a Stark name perhaps but he was pleasantly surprised. She was of House Baelish now and she sought his approval at naming his daughter as such. With his black hair and her Tully blue eyes, their daughter would be spitting image of Sansa when she dyed her hair pretending to be his niece, he thought.

Petyr grinned and kissed his daughter, “Alayne, it is.” He looked at his son, “And what name will you give…”

Suddenly a commotion could be heard on the deck that pulled Petyr and Sansa out of their short-lived bliss. Samwell and Gilly came rushing in and Petyr held his breath.

“We’re under attack.” Samwell explained, “Some of the dead that were in the village as we sailed by got onboard. They must have raised up with anyone that may have died in the winter snows. The captain got too close to the banks and they got on board. Jon said to stay in here and get Lady Sansa and the children ready to move.”

Petyr didn’t waste any time. He quickly helped Sansa dress and wrapped his daughter as Gilly had shown him to her torso. After putting on her cloak he did the same with his son and retrieved the dragonglass giving Sansa and Gilly a blade to protect themselves. The babes cried loudly at the noise and the ship shuddered and Petyr could feel they were slowing down.

Petyr swore under his breath and looked to Samwell. “Go, and see what is happening.” Samwell, nodded but before he could open the door, Jon stormed in completely out of breath and his sword in hand.

“The ship is hit and we’re taking water. We need to move to the other ship now.” Jon ordered.

Gilly followed Samwell closely as Jon and Petyr helped Sansa along to the deck. It wasn’t many that Petyr could see, it wasn’t the army they faced back at the cliffs. It was dead villagers _awakened_ just as Jon had guessed. Men were fighting as Petyr guided Sansa to the starboard side. A deadman came rushing forward at Sansa and without thinking, Petyr threw his dagger hitting the man in the chest and then finished off by Jon with dragonglass. Jon sliced through another that crawled up from behind the bannister as they waited for the other ship.

The second ship came alongside to let everyone board them. A plank was held between the two ships and men were already making their way across. A few men were still fighting the dead as Samwell crossed with Gilly’s son and then Jon helped Sansa cross before coming back for Gilly. The ship swayed to the port side as it began filling quickly with water. Gilly started sliding as Petyr grabbed her hauling her up to Jon holding onto the balustrade as the ship tilted further. Petyr pulled himself up and stood next to Jon. He checked his son and he was still securely wrapped to him. Samwell swung over a rope hanging for the yardarm and picked up Gilly swinging her to safety.

Jon swung the rope back and Petyr latched onto it. Before he could swing the ship jolted down and he lost his footing. The sudden movement made Petyr rotate around on the rope as he swung uncontrollably to the other ship. He hit is back on the broadside just below the railing and he could hear Jon yelling to his men to pull him up. Just as Petyr crested the railing, he felt a searing pain slice through his chest. A deadman shot an arrow from the sinking ship and before he could even look down, he felt hands pull him over the bannister onto the deck.

Petyr pushed himself up and the pain in his chest was excruciating. The arrow pierced him below his collarbone and when he pulled his cloak back, he heard himself scream in agony. It wasn’t physical pain but the sight of the arrow that pierced the bloody bundle wrapped to his chest.

_My son!_

Petyr tore his cloak off and couldn’t pull the swaddling cloth away fast enough only to stare at the horror. He heard Sansa scream hysterically as Gilly held her back.

“Oh Gods, _NO…. please no, “_ Petyr cried.

Jon and Samwell pulled him down to the deck and held him as a man pulled the arrow from his chest and his son along with it. The pain of the extraction of the arrow was nothing compared to how his heart cried out. He pushed the men away and grabbed his son back into his arms. Petyr closed his eyes. He couldn’t believe it. No, he wouldn’t believe it. This wasn’t happening. Not his child. It barely had a chance to live… and now…

Petyr couldn’t breathe and everything seem to flow in slow motion around him. He heard Sansa scream and sob uncontrollably, men moving about trying to sail them to safety and Jon struck with such sorrow on his face. Sansa was clawing her way over to him and her face told him everything. She clutched their daughter to her chest and latched onto his free arm. Petyr was suddenly numb and couldn’t think or feel. He looked down at the limp babe in his arms and slumped over. The sound that erupted from his vocal cords didn’t even sound human as he howled in anguish. The sight of the broken man holding his dead infant son stilled everyone on the boat. It was deathly quiet except the sobbing of the young mother and the tormented wail of the father.

Sansa pulled at him and cried, “Let me see my son… give him to me.”

Petyr sat up and looked at her, her face was white as a ghost with the tracks of tears glistening her skin. With shaking hands he handed her their boy. Petyr’s eyes were wide, dead and brimming with tears and he couldn’t bear to look his son. 

_He didn’t deserve this_. _He was innocent. I didn’t even name him and now he’s gone._

Sansa held their boy and wept in grief. Petyr couldn’t take it; he was going to be sick. He slowly got to his feet and clutching the wound on his chest he stumbled to the balustrade. He stood for a moment overlooking the death and destruction on the river and cast his eyes downward. It would be so easy to fall over the side, he thought. Let death take him for this was suffering he could not bear. Listening to Sansa’s misery behind him, he fell to his knees and finally broke choking on his own tears that finally fell.

No one should ever have to witness their own child’s death, he lamented. His heart shattered and for the longest time, he felt completely alone until he felt a soft hand touch his shoulder and then the sweetest embrace from the mother of the child he couldn’t protect. She held him and unexpectedly she was the stronger of the two. Sansa was comforting him and not damning him. He wanted her to hit him but instead, she held him close and he finally locked his arms around her and sobbed into her neck.

Alayne cried as Gilly held her and Petyr had to snap out of it. He couldn’t let himself break apart now. As much as he wanted to die at this moment, he didn't have time to sit and even mourn his boy. He still had his daughter to take care of. He couldn’t be selfish and wallow in grief for one child when another still needed him. He made a promise to Sansa. He would never leave her again. She needed him and he knew now how much he needed her as well. They didn’t work without each other. Petyr pulled back and gazed in her eyes. There was no anger or hate, just grief but also understanding.

Jon stepped forward with his son wrapped gently in the swaddling cloth, trying to find the right words. “Let me take care of him. Soon he will awaken like the rest…”

Petyr saw Sansa’s eyes fill with horror. “No, you will not touch him!” She stood and yanked the dead child from Jon’s arms. “I won’t let you. You will not burn him like rubbish,” She yelled hysterically.

Petyr stood and suddenly knew what needed to be done. He came to Sansa and held her gently. Whispering words of love for her and their children, he softly took the child in his arms. As Jon came forward, Petyr pushed him aside, “I’ll do it. I am his father.”

He took a piece of dragonglass from a soldier and Sansa sobbed and pleaded for him not to do it. Jon held her back as Petyr made his way across the deck, far enough where he knew Sansa could not see. He would not let her watch this. For the dragonglass to work, Petyr had to wait. He fell to his knees and watched the storm brewing on the horizon. On the sinking ship, he could see some of the dead Vale soldiers begin to rise and Petyr knew it was time. He felt his son stir in his arms and held him tightly. He didn’t want to look down, afraid of what he might see.

Petyr gripped the dragonglass and tried not to hear his mother’s screams. He couldn’t see for the tears in his eyes clouded his vision. Looking down, at last, it was not his son that lay in his arms. It was not his green eyes that stared back at him but icy blue within blue eyes of a winter ghost. Petyr closed his eyes, and with a shaking hand thrust the obsidian into cold flesh shattering like smoky diamonds that scattered into the breeze as the cloth took flight over the river.

* * *


	25. Wildfire

For hours, it was deathly quiet on the ship that sailed down river. There was a sorrow on board that every man could feel to his bones. So many had been lost in the last few days and those remaining weren’t sure if they would live or die soon.

Petyr stood at the stern watching the storm that followed. It was only a matter of time now. If they didn’t reach White Harbor soon, they would be engulfed and all meet the same fate. Jon came to stand beside him and they were quiet for a time.

“How is she?” Jon finally asked even though Petyr was sure he already knew the answer.

His first instinct was to quip, “ _How the hell do you think she is?”_ but he bit his tongue.

Jon was a good man, to a fault and probably to his ruin, but it didn’t matter. Petyr wasn’t a good man and yet here he was losing everything important to him. He had no sense of time. After drugging Sansa to sleep, when he was finally alone, Petyr broke down and cried for his son. It was his fault he was dead. He couldn’t protect him. If he couldn’t protect an infant, how would he take care of Sansa and his daughter? The sorrow was too much and Petyr wondered if it was for the best that they all died. But looking at his daughter, he knew he couldn't lose faith. As long as they were alive, there was hope.

“I gave her a small dose of Sweetsleep to calm her down. I dared not give her too much for fear if we have to move quickly again.” Petyr was exhausted but he couldn’t rest. His mind was reeling on everything that had happened but most importantly what needed to come. Once they reached the city, they had to move fast if they wanted to get out of the harbour alive.

“You can see the city ahead. We should be there within the hour,” Jon advised. He turned to leave and paused before placing his hand on Petyr’s shoulder. “I’m truly sorry. I burned the woman I loved after she died to keep her from becoming one of them. She was a wildling… and the loveliest thing I had ever seen in my life. I’ll do what I can to make sure Sansa and your child survive. I’ve had enough of death and dying to last me several lifetimes.”

Jon walked away and Petyr sighed. Yes, he was tired of it all too. All that mattered now was getting Sansa and Alayne out of this damned place. Petyr took a deep breath and said goodbye to his son on the wind and went to wake his wife. They would arrive in White Harbor and they needed to be ready.

When Petyr entered the room, Sansa was feeding Alayne and he couldn’t help the small, sad smile that formed. He still had this child and needed to focus on that. She looked up at him and the sadness filled her eyes. He didn’t want her to lose hope for the sake of their now only child.

“That woman… she said if I went through with the pregnancy, that I would only have one child and never another. She said death followed it. A child with black hair and blue eyes. That I should beware a man dressed in black for he would destroy everything I loved.” Sansa sniffed and continued on, “I chose to have the child and now look at what I’ve brought upon us.”

It dawned on Petyr on what had happened between Sansa and Melisandre. A prophecy was made and that woman told her to terminate her pregnancy. That explained the vial the red woman handed him. Sansa told them what they wanted to hear but now she blamed herself for all the death that had come upon them. If he ever saw that woman again, he would burn her alive himself.

Petyr kneeled before her and laid his head in her lap. “No… this is _my_ fault. I never should have left you there. This is my sins coming back to haunt me. Gods, don’t you dare blame yourself for this.”

He looked up at her and all the courage and strength he could muster filled him and steeled his resolve. “I will get you and Alayne out of here. We are not dying here. Do you hear me?”

Petyr stood and kissed her. “We’re coming to White Harbor. Grab the jewels, we may need them to buy our way out of here. Have Gilly help you cut your skirts a bit so you don’t trip on them. We’ll be moving quickly. Do you want me to carry Alayne?” Petyr cursed himself under his breath and quickly retracted, ”No, you should carry her. I’m afraid she’ll…because I’m injured…” He couldn’t say it but they both knew what he meant.

“Petyr, you take her. You’re faster than I’ll be. Remember you promised me, that the child….that she’ll come first. If I fall behind, and you can’t save me, take her and run. I’ll never forgive you if you don’t.” Sansa pleaded.

“I’m _not_ leaving you behind, damnit. If you think that, you’re mad,” he blistered.

“Think of our daughter first. If you can’t help me, _save her_. If you don’t promise me, I won’t leave this bloody ship,” Sansa countered with the same stubbornness.

“Fine, Jon will carry you the entire way. As I said, I am not leaving you behind.” Petyr glared and challenged her. She knew he was good on his word. With his injury, he knew he couldn’t carry her but he also knew that Jon, on his honour, would protect her with his life. “I’m not arguing with you anymore. I’m your husband, do as I say.”

“Well, be sure to properly marry me once we get out of this mess.” She smiled and kissed him. Gods, he loved this woman. She was his match in everything.

“I’ll send Gilly in,” he whispered against her lips.

Petyr walked out and sought weapons for Sansa and himself. He tucked the rest of the vial of Sweetsleep in his pocket just in case. When he returned Sansa was ready and Gilly began wrapping him once again to hold Alayne to his chest. Petyr closed his eyes and tried to let the past go. He would not let it happen again. Alayne and Sansa were all that mattered. Nothing else. Getting to his ships was the only thing they needed to do and he didn’t care how many men he lost. If he had to row by himself he’d do it.

Petyr donned his cloak and buttoned it enough to keep Alayne warm and protected as much as possible. Sansa and Gilly finished tearing the bottom of her skirts away and filled their pockets with the jewels Petyr gave her.

Once on deck, the cold air was brisk and they could see the city before them. It was almost dusk and it would be hard to see. What worried Petyr as they came closer was not that it was growing dark but that there were very few lights in the town. It was extremely quiet and it unnerved him. He looked at Jon and the two men were clearly thinking the same thing.

“Fuck...” Petyr muttered when he saw the blockade at the city’s river gates to the mouth of the sea. Gods damn you, Manderly. He knew the man was probably trying to protect the city the best he could but it also blocked them from entering the harbor, which meant only one thing. They would have to make through the edge of the town to the docks and hope to the old Gods and the New that Petyr’s ships were still lying in wait on his signal.

“What’s wrong?” Sansa asked.

“It’s blocked. We have to walk from here.” Fear covered her delicate features and he kissed her lovingly. “Don’t worry. We’ll make it. We’re still ahead of them. My ships are in the bay. Look there… See?” Petyr pointed to where the edge of the harbour was visible. A lone mast could be seen and it wasn’t as far as it seemed from the river. “We can do this.”

Petyr turned to Jon and muttered, “Am I lying?” he asked in all seriousness. Jon looked at him somberly. The storm behind them was getting closer. They had very little time to make way through the city.

“Men, we make way for the harbour on foot. Take all the weapons and dragonglass you can carry.” Jon added softly as to not frighten the men, “Pray, your ships wait for us, Lord Baelish or we die here tonight."

Petyr thought about it, he wasn’t really afraid to die, not really. He only preferred to live. He stared at Jon and made a decision. “All men must die… sooner or later. But not you, Jon… son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen.” Petyr eyed him pointedly, “ _You_ must live.”

Jon was speechless and Petyr didn’t have time to explain right now, “Get us out of here, and I will tell you everything.” Petyr gave the boy credit; he didn’t argue or even try to accuse him of lies. He simply nodded and ordered the plank over the side to the dock.

* * *

Once in the city, they made their way through the deserted streets and it was just as Petyr feared. The city had been evacuated and Petyr prayed that at least one ship awaited them or they were doomed just as Jon had said. It was eerily quiet not because the town was deserted but that random buildings had a few candles burning next to clay jars that could be seen from open doorways and windows.

Sansa was slowing down and Petyr came to her side, “Are you alright?” His voice laced with concern.

“It hurts, but I’m all right.” She huffed in pain. She yelped when he pulled her into a doorway and covered her mouth. Petyr could see a few people but by their glowing blue eyes, he knew they were dead. He quietly signalled Jon but he had seen them too and pulled Gilly and Samwell into the shadows. Gilly’s boy shrieked in fear and Petyr closed his eyes.

He looked around the alley they were in. Petyr knew if they cut across they could hopefully get the to docks faster unnoticed. Gilly tried to hush little Sam but he wailed again and he heard Jon swear under his breath. Before they knew it, the dead townsfolk were upon them. His Vale soldiers held them off as Petyr signalled to Jon to follow him. He knew he was leaving the men to their deaths but Petyr didn’t care. If he waited, they would all be dead. The five of them ran through the alley turning a corner too quickly and deadman lunged at Gilly but Samwell blocked him and stabbed him with dragonglass. Petyr grabbed Sansa’s hand and began to pull her down the street when she suddenly stopped.

Looking back, Petyr exhaled sadly. The young man, Samwell, was on the ground clutching his chest. Before killing the deadman, he was struck a deadly blow and was now dying on the cobblestone. Gilly was sobbing as Jon embraced his friend. Sam wasn’t going to make it and they all knew it. Sansa held onto Petyr at the sight but neither of them could look away or leave.

“I don’t want to be one of them, Jon.” Samwell pleaded. “I want you to do it.”

Jon had tears in his eyes. This man must have been a good friend, Petyr thought. Petyr never had a close and trustworthy friend in his life. The only person he had in the world he cared about was holding him as they watched in grief at the man they barely knew begging for mercy of a quick death. Gilly sobbed as Samwell told her he loved her and Little Sam. She turned away as Jon swung his sword severing his head in one blow. Petyr pulled Sansa, they had to move or they would meet the same fate.

As they made their way, Petyr began to see a strange phosphorescence running in thin streams down the streets the closer they came to the harbour. Sansa almost stepped in it but Petyr lifted her with one arm quickly in caution.

“What is that?” she whispered. Petyr was sure he knew but didn’t want to scare her.

“Just don’t step in it. Did you get any on you?” Petyr checked her over and she shook her head. He looked to Jon and Gilly, “Watch where you step. We’re almost there.”

Luckily they didn’t run into any more of the dead and were watchful of where they walked. Petyr stopped at the corner of a building and could see the docks but kept Sansa behind him. Jon and Gilly caught up and Jon looked around the bend scanning the area as Petyr did. There was a lone torch that lit an area where crates had fallen in a mess by the water. It was very dark now and it was hard to see beyond the piers. They had no choice but to go out in the open.

Jon told them to wait as he was the first to move. His sword at the ready, he made his way and Petyr could see the stone was clear around the docks. Sansa held onto his arm with Gilly huddled beside her. Alayne cried softly and he tried to hush her. Petyr closed his eyes caressing her lightly. His little girl had to live through this.

Jon signalled and Petyr hauled the girls with him to where the torch lay on the ground burning softly. Strangely there was a stock of crossbows already loaded and ready to fire. Perhaps they were forgotten as the people were escaping. The water was hitting the pilings and Petyr looked out across the bay and his heart plummeted. Not one ship remained. There was an odour on the water and when the clouds opened a bit and the moon’s light shown down, Petyr and Jon saw the remains of the ship that was to take them home. It had been burned to the bottom of the bay and only the scorched mast stood as a tombstone marking the death of their escape.

Sansa embraced him snuggling her head close to their daughter against his chest. He didn’t need to say it; she knew as well Jon and Gilly. This was it; they would die here, this night. There was nowhere to hide with two children in the cold. Little ones would only stay quiet for a short time and then they would be found and killed. Even if they found a place to hide, it would only be delaying the inevitable. The army was too big and with every man that died, it would only grow larger. They had nowhere to go.

A groan and the rustling of wood alerted them and Jon slowly walked to the pile of crates with his sword drawn. Petyr handed Alayne to Sansa and drew his dagger and dragonglass. Under heavy wood and fishing crates lay an old man injured but not dead. Jon called Petyr over and began to move some of the wood. Petyr moved a crate and saw the man clearly.

_Wyman Manderly!_

Of all the people, this mad old man was lying under a tower of crates and burnt wood. “You stupid, son of a bitch…” Petyr muttered to himself but loud enough to hear.

“Ah Baelish, I’d know that sarcastic tone anywhere. Help an old friend, will you?” Wyman quipped as if he were at a tavern having his cups.

“I ought to leave you here to rot, old man. You promised me at least one of my ships upon my return and here we are now stranded in your bloody ghost town.” Petyr huffed as he moved another crate. Jon was pulling wood quickly and soon they’d be able to pull the man free.

“Well, I did have a ship waiting for you. Sadly, though I think she’s burned down to the keel. Stupid bastards dropped one clay pot and up it went in only a few minutes. When the yards broke, it all fell right here trapping my two men and me. I fear they’re probably dead. Better for them, I smell like rotten fish.”

Petyr almost smiled at the old man but as they pulled him free, Petyr realized Jon pulled too much from the collapsed wood that Petyr could see was supporting the rest of the yardarm. As it began to fall, Jon could not move back fast enough and it buckled covering him in debris. After it settled, Petyr rushed over and pulled Jon from the rubble. Sansa ran over with Gilly trailing behind.

“Stand back, it may still fall…” Petyr ordered the women. He dragged Jon further and checked to see if he was still alive. “He’s breathing but it looks like his head has been struck.” Petyr cursed their bad luck. Now he was all that remained with two women, children, a crippled old man and unconscious soldier.

“Manderly, can you move on your own?” Petyr asked as he pulled Jon to where the torch lay.

“I daresay, I have a broken arm here. Can't move my leg... Nothing that a pint of ale can’t fix.” Wyman japed. “Aw, Lady Sansa. Lovely to see you again, m’dear. Shame it’s not under better circumstances, or I’d wish you a happy marriage.”

“Now is not the time for this, Wyman.” Petyr retorted with growing irritation. “Tell me, is there any other way to escape the city in time?”

“No my boy, I fully planned to send you and your ladywife on your way, while I stayed and took care of a bit of business. This rotten lot may take the North, but not my city. I took a page out of the Mad King’s book. Sometimes you just need to burn it all down.” Wyman smiled wickedly.

“ _Wildfire,_ ” Petyr whispered.

Petyr didn’t even need to think. The city had a virtual delta of wildfire running through the streets. Petyr looked at the twinkle of the scattered lights throughout the city and laughed heartily. This old man wasn’t so crazy after all.

“Let me guess, you have caches of it placed throughout the city, with streams leading to every one?” Petyr smiled. If they weren’t in such a dire situation, he be damned if he weren’t jealous that he didn’t think of it. “Where in the seven hells did you manage to get your hands on this much it?”

“Ah well, when you’re as old as I am and have seen the things I have… you take precautions. I’ve had it for ages. Sooner or later I knew those damn ice bastards would try to take the North again. Since we don’t have anymore Targaryens and their fucking dragons to kill them with fire… might as well use the next best thing.” Wyman smiled and winked at Sansa as he tried to drag himself closer to the pile of crossbows.

“And how, may I ask, were you planning to escape after setting it off?”

As soon as the words left Petyr’s mouth, he knew it was a silly question. Wyman wasn’t planning on leaving. He was going to burn it all down along with himself. He evacuated his family and the people and he would stay behind to torch his own city.

“I never took you for the martyr, Wyman.” Petyr smiled to himself.

“And I never took you for a decent man, Baelish, but you are.” Manderly quipped. “This young lady and child are proof of that.”

“Well, it seems you are to have company. Since there is no ship, we might as well sit at your campfire when they come for us.” Petyr sighed.

This was not how he wanted it to end but what other choice was there. He couldn’t bear the thought of watching Sansa and his child live their last moments in fear and pain only to be slaughtered and then reborn into another nightmare. Wildfire burned hotter than anything and once the chain reaction started, they would be engulfed in seconds. If he gave the women and children the rest of the sweetsleep, it would be enough that they would never feel the pain.

“My Lord… there’s a boat here.” Gilly’s little voice broke the silence. She had wandered to the end of the burnt dock with her boy and waved for them to come and see.

Petyr rushed over and indeed a skiff was untouched by the fire. His mind rapidly worked. He looked to the north where the river lay and the storm was rolling in like a blizzard. They had no time. He looked at Wyman and Jon and he knew what he needed to do. Petyr rubbed his face in thought and gazed at Sansa. There was no other way. Someone had to stay behind. They would never make it out of the harbour alive by the time the dead arrived.

Petyr told Gilly and Sansa to get in the boat as Petyr lifted Jon under his arms and dragged him to the end of the pier. His arrow wound tore and bled at the effort. Jon was heavier than he looked. Wyman with his broken arm and age couldn’t help as he sat and held the torch in his hand on the dock. Petyr didn’t need the ladies to exert themselves now. They would have their work cut out for them tonight. Gilly helped pull Jon into the boat as Petyr practically threw him in trying not to fall in the freezing water.

“So how exactly did you plan the chain reaction?” Petyr asked Manderly, scanned the area.

The streams of wildfire were further up the streets. Wyman pointed to a stack of clay pots with several bright green glass jars sitting on top glowing with the volatile liquid.

“What? You planned an archery contest for this?” Petyr rolled his eyes. Why didn’t he just run the wildfire down to the end of the dock and light it from here? Petyr looked back at Sansa on the pier and thought it over. She would never get far enough if he lit from here. The force of the blaze would burn her alive on the water. Wildfire was temperamental and could either trail to each cache as Wyman planned or explode all together.

They needed to leave now and get as far into the bay as possible before he lit it. Petyr took a deep breath and walked to Sansa, who was patiently waiting for him to join her in the boat. He tried to summon as much courage as a man like him could.

The look of hope on her face was his undoing as he reached her. What could he say? He touched her cheek and looked at her. He memorized every curve, the softness of her skin and the fire of her hair. In a moment, she knew. She read his face and the tears welled up in her eyes. She shook her head angrily holding Alayne close to her chest.

“Don’t you dare…” she choked.

“You think this is what I want? If there is another way, please enlighten me. I would love to get in that boat with you,” Petyr tried to reason with her.

“Can’t _he_ do it? He was going to before…” Petyr could see she was racking her brain for any solution. “It doesn’t have to be you.”

“He can’t, look at him. By the time they get here, I won’t have time to set it off without killing you along with me. I’ll have to time it just right.”

“To hell with it, we’ll row as hard as we can….” Sansa cried.

“There are too many of them now. We’ll never make it far enough,” Petyr looked back and they were coming. It looked like a million bright blue orbs heading towards them. It wouldn’t be long before they were here. She needed to leave. “Sweetling, there’s no one else. I will not watch you and my daughter die. Not when I can save you. Let me be the man I should have been.”

Sansa cried harder and he took her into his arms. Gods, it hit him. This would be the last time he held her, saw her face and kissed her lips. He wished he had more time, but that was a luxury he didn’t have.

“When you reach the end of the bay, head to the Three Sisters. When the sun rises in the East, keep south and you should make it there by midday. This boat has a small mast and sail. It won’t be hard.” She sobbed holding him, “Listen to me. When you get to Gulltown, go to my house. You’ll have no trouble finding it.” He fished in his doublet and placed a key in her hand. “You’ll find gold, papers and information you will need in my solar there. You will understand then.” He pulled back and held her face in his hands, “Sansa, Jon is the key to everything. Stay close to him. He will protect you. _He is Lyanna’s son_.” She looked bewildered and he didn’t have time to explain, “Believe what I tell you.”

She nodded sadly but refused to let go, “Damnit, Petyr. You promised you would never leave us again. _You promised me_. I can’t do this alone. I can’t. Not without you.”

She was making it harder for him. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to take her and his daughter away but it was never meant to be.

“Yes, you can. As I said before, you are the strongest woman I’ve ever known. You’ve given me two things I’ve never had in my life. Love and a child to call my own. I’m already with you.” Petyr kissed Alayne, “You have the very best part of me right here.” Petyr looked back to her face. “Don’t cry, Sweetling. I never could bear your tears.”

There was no more time to waste. If she didn’t leave they would all die. “You need to go now, Sansa. Please do as I tell you, one last time. _For me_.”

She wrapped her arm around him and buried her face in his neck. “Oh Gods, I’m not ready...” She pulled back enough that they were inches apart. “Tell me you love me… tell me now…”

“I love you now… I love you always.” Petyr kissed her with everything he had. “It’s always been you.” He whispered against her lips.

Petyr helped her into the boat and took one last moment before letting her hand go. He smiled and stepped back on the pier. An odd sensation came over him as he suddenly felt everything around him. “How strangely awake I feel.” He unhooked the rope to the boat and rested his foot on the edge, “As if living had only been a dream. With you, it was the sweetest dream.”

With a hard shove of his leg, his pushed to boat away from the pier and watched as it drifted away from him. Her face was tear stricken as she cried and it cut his heart to pieces.

“Tell her…” Petyr called out to Sansa, “I loved her a lifetime’s worth. Tell her, that for one moment, when it mattered most, her father was a good man and for once in his life did the right thing…"

She drifted into the darkness and Petyr needed to move fast. He made his way back to Manderly and saw them coming. Petyr knew he would never make it with the torch before they killed him and picked up the crossbow instead.

“I hope you know, I’m a lousy shot, Wyman. You really should have thought this through better.” The old man lit the end of the bolt and chuckled.

“Come on, my good man, it’s a crossbow. Just aim.”

Petyr tried to see in the darkness and aimed for the green liquid. He missed but not by far.

Grabbing another crossbow in haste, he missed again and cursed himself. “Well, they’re never going to write songs about us are they?” He couldn’t help but laugh, “I have to admit, Manderly’s Meat Pies has a nice ring to it…”

The old man chuckled, “I’d listen to a tale about Lord Littlefinger and his bonny bride.”

They could see the army coming fast and prayed to the Gods for accuracy. Petyr grabbed another bow as Wyman lit it. This was it, he thought.

“Never thought I’d die alongside you, Manderly.” Petyr took care in his aim waiting for the right moment. “Fate is an uncertain thing entirely.”

The army was forcing its way through the streets and was almost at the docks. Petyr held his breath and aimed.

_Please_

The bolt struck its target and it erupted into green flames.

* * *

From the distance, Sansa watched with wide eyes as the first explosion triggered a lightning path throughout the city. One by one buildings exploded with force as the wildfire consumed the city within seconds. The bright green blaze rose high and spread out along the bay. The heat of it could be felt and she and Gilly held each other as they watched it burn everything in its wake.

They waited nervously wondering if they were to be attacked, as they weren’t too far from shore. Other than the burning city, Sansa couldn’t hear or see anything else. It was only then the finality of loss set in and Sansa crumpled and sobbed uncontrollably. She held her little baby girl to her chest and wept. She had prayed that he would return to her after so many months. When she saw Petyr after they had escaped, she knew everything was going to be all right. Petyr was here and he was going to take care of her and her baby. But then everything happened so fast that she couldn’t even process it all.

She looked at the blazing city as tears fell down her face and held her child close. She was truly alone now in the world. Gilly was tending to Jon and he was alive, but it didn’t matter. Everything, except the girl she always wanted, died in only a matter of hours. He came back to save her but she never really thought he would die for her.

If she had known they had very little time left… oh, why didn’t she say the right words or hold him more? All the whys and why not’s filled her head but there was nothing she could do now but watch the North burn.

The clouds dissipated enough for the moon’s light to shine on the water. Sansa looked to the south and her future. She had to be strong now for her and Petyr’s girl. For Alayne. Gilly told her Jon was all right and wrapped him in his cloak for warmth. Sansa placed Alayne in his arms and covered them.

It took some time, but Sansa and Gilly fixed the small mast and canvas. The storm that came from the North had enough wind to push them along at moderate speed. Sansa had never steered a boat in her life, but heard Petyr’s voice in her head telling her to make for the end of the harbour. Old Castle would be on a rocky point at the left end of the bay, Sansa knew. From there, she would only have to sail south to the Three Sisters. She was worried that such a small boat would have trouble in the sea but she didn’t dwell on it. They couldn’t stay in the North and the sea was the only way out.

She didn’t know what lay ahead but they would deal with it when it came.

Sansa and Gilly took turns steering with only the moon’s light for guidance when Jon awoke in pain. After a time, he took over and the dawn was breaking on the horizon. Sansa could see the ruins of Old Castle on the point as they sailed by. If they could just make it unscathed to the Three Sisters, she knew everything would be alright.

Alayne cried demanding to be fed. She turned and saw Jon's sombre face. His shoulder was hurt badly along with a gash on his head but he didn’t complain. Behind him, Sansa could still see the greenish glow in the distance of what was left of White Harbor. She thought of Petyr and couldn’t help the fresh tears that rolled down her cheeks. She would be strong for him, she told herself. Alayne deserved a strong mother.

A few ships could be seen nearby and Jon hailed them for help. It wasn’t long before one closed the distance and the men helped them aboard. Sansa looked around at all the townsfolk, wildlings and Vale guards. The man that seemed to be in charge approached her as she held her child close and Jon stood behind her. He was wearing the soft blue of the Vale and Sansa put on her best mask.

“I’m Lady Baelish. Wife of Lord Protector of the Vale, Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

* * *

**Petyr & Sansa's Theme**


End file.
